The Tangled Skein of Things
by starrysummernights
Summary: Prequel to The Illusion of Control. When an encounter with an Alpha goes wrong, John needs to find someone else to share his heats with. Omegaverse.
1. Chapter 1

**_PLEASE NOTE_: This is a PREQUEL to The Illusion of Control series. That means this story takes place BEFORE anything else in the series happens. **

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

The floorboards creaked, aged wood popping and groaning from the dampness which had pervaded the flat after weeks of heavy rain. The lingering smells of tea and fried bacon lingered in the air, coalescing with the stench of blood, freshly opened corpse, and formaldehyde. The horrible stench permeated the kitchen, noxious and overwhelming. Sherlock's nose twitched, his eyes watering slightly behind the safety goggles perched atop his nose. He wished he'd opened the windows before starting his experiment but now, elbows deep in a half-dissected torso, blood covering his hands and streaking his forearms, he was too involved to go and do it himself.

His first thought was to shout for John and his mouth was already open, ready to bellow his flatmate's name- when he remembered. His mouth snapped closed and his lips tightened in disapproval.

John was gone.

Sherlock stabbed viciously at the corpse in front of him, completing his cut with a flourish and clipping the folds of skin back with clamps. He disliked it when John was gone- for any reason- but this time was particularly unpleasant. This time, John would be gone for approximately three or four days, until his heat was over and he stumbled back to the flat, exhausted and flushed and smelling so strongly of sex even Sherlock would feel contaminated and in need of a shower.

It was a regular occurrence and something Sherlock, although not approving of, had come to accept. Every two months, when John's heat was due, he made arrangements to stay with a friend, an accommodating Alpha, who would ease him through the few days of his estrus.

_Accommodating_, Sherlock snorted derisively at the sobriquet…before wincing at the putrid air that invaded his nostrils. He was sure it was _such_ an _incredible_ hardship for the string of Alphas John chose to dally with to spend three to four days fucking him in every way imaginable. How good of them to be so _accommodating_ and long-suffering.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, picked up a new scalpel, and set to work again.

And the man who would be _accommodating_ John this time was one Michael O'Flannery.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose, slicing through the cadaver's stomach cavity and probing into the inner lining. What a horrible name.

_Michael. O'Flannery_.

Sherlock knew everything about him, of course. Aged 35. Tall. Close-cropped brown hair. Green eyes. Former army mate of John's. Recently released from the military. Had yet to find employment. Unbonded Alpha with a massive superiority complex. Lived on 268 West Reynolds Street in a posh little flat with his newly purchased tropical fish, one of which had already died. It took exactly 45 minutes to walk there from Baker Street, 25 minutes by cab, and 30 to 40 minutes, depending on the time of day, by the more thrifty option of combination tube and walking.

Not that Sherlock had told John that last part.

After living with the Omega for almost a year, Sherlock knew better than to let John know he'd spent one day, shortly after he'd discovered John's plans to spend his next heat with _Michael O'Flannery_ (and really, if John had wanted to hide the information from Sherlock he should have emptied the trash folder in his e-mail) calculating exact times it would take him to reach West Reynolds Street…should the event arise in which he would need to.

If he'd told him, Sherlock knew John would've got that dark, closed-off look on his face, told Sherlock that'd been "not good," and spent the next few days silently angry at him for what John would have perceived as Sherlock guarding him like a domineering Alpha.

And it wasn't that he thought he'd have to ride to John's rescue as if the Omega were some damsel in distress, Sherlock thought acerbically, removing the diseased stomach and placing it in a plastic container for further inspection. It wasn't any of _his_ business who John chose to…associate with. That included the Alphas John shagged during his heats _and_ the female Betas he dated during the in-between times- none of it was Sherlock's business.

It was only…well, something had seemed _off_ with Michael O'Flannery in his e-mails with John. Nothing distinct. Nothing overt that Sherlock could put his finger on.

And _that_, more than anything, had bothered him.

The minutes dragged past, Sherlock's hands flying over the corpse, deftly removing the organs and storing them in waiting containers, ready to be experimented on in various ways later.

It was quiet in the flat. Too quiet. Sherlock could hear his own heartbeat, every movement and clink of his instruments seemed magnified in the oppressive silence.

Sherlock was used to the noise that was John Watson puttering around- making food, turning on the telly, grousing about something he'd read in the paper, sighing and turning pages in his latest book, tapping his foot as he typed on his computer.

When he was gone, that all stopped. He left a vacuum and there was nothing to fill it.

Sherlock had come to expect it every few months and always lined up more experiments than he could feasibly do while John was away. That kept his mind occupied and, if he were _very_ lucky, sometimes, there was a case. But, he thought, glancing hopefully at his mobile on the kitchen counter, those only served to highlight the fact that John wasn't with him, was gone off to be with someone else- and Sherlock studiously tried forgetting exactly _what_ John was doing with that other person.

Not my business, he repeated to himself, sealing the lids on the containers and labeling them with the label maker John had bought him for Christmas ("Now I won't be halfway through microwaving intestines until I realize it's not lasagna"). Not my business. Not. My. Business.

The mantra didn't really help- it never did- and unbidden little flashes of John in various states of defilement flashed through Sherlock's mind- before he growled, stabbing his scalpel into the wood of the table, and forced himself to shut it out.

He devoted himself to his experiment, arranging his equipment on the table, and sliding the hollowed out torso to the side, making a mental note to dispose of it before John came back. It seemed the sort of thing that would upset him. For a doctor, John could be ridiculously squeamish.

Sherlock was involved in carefully slicing off a thin piece of stomach and placing it on a clean slide when the front door slammed.

He frowned, then started in surprise at the sound of John's familiar tread racing up the stairs. Sherlock was up and out of his seat in less than a second, carelessly abandoning his experiment, and quickly striding to the top of the stairs in time to intercept John.

"You're back." He stated pointlessly, staring in disbelief at his flatmate. John was breathing heavily, his lips thinned down, face bleached of all color. He looked so utterly furious Sherlock almost took a step back.

"Oh, _well spotted_." John snapped, pivoting sharply away from Sherlock and stalking, stiff and rigid, into the kitchen. "Oh, for the love of- I'm gone for three _fucking_ hours and this is what you do?"

Biting back the retort that if John weren't back so soon he would have never seen the mess in the kitchen, Sherlock trailed after him. John was furious, but more so than the bloody mess in the kitchen warranted, and obviously over something which had happened outside the flat.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. John had done up the buttons wrong on his shirt. His trousers were wrinkled from being on the floor but not creased. One of his shoes was untied and his fists, which were clenched tightly at his sides, were ever so slightly shaking.

"What happened?" Sherlock watched as John flipped on the kettle with more force than was warranted and then yank open the cupboard where they kept their mugs.

"Can't I come back to my own damn flat?" John asked brusquely, voice low and contained but Sherlock could hear the fury vibrating beneath it.

"You were forced to use physical violence. There are cuts on your knuckles, swollen joints, and flecks of blood on your sleeve." Sherlock forced his voice to remain calm through his deductions, but the idea of John resorting to violence- He knew there had been something wrong with Michael O'Flannery.

"It's nothing." John replied tightly, eyes focused away, tapping his fingers as he waited on the kettle to boil.

"It's clearly not _nothing_ since you were forced to use physical violence-"

"Yeah, ok. I fucking hit him." John spun around, his cheeks red and eyes angry. "But just for _once_ in your life can you mind your own damn business, Sherlock? Hmm?"

Sherlock fell silent, the remark cutting in a way he hadn't expected, and John's face did something complicated. He slumped, bracing himself on the counter and took a few deep breaths.

"I hit him because I didn't like being treated like a goddamn fucktoy, Sherlock. That's why."

Sherlock cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out what John meant from that, and John avoided his eyes, plunking a tea bag in his mug and reaching for the kettle, lips pursed.

"Oh, _Christ_-" John suddenly bit out, fumbling the mug. It fell from his trembling fingers, smashing to the floor, ceramic skidding in all directions. For a brief second, Sherlock thought John was going to smash the rest of their mugs in a fit of rage. His jaw tightened, muscles standing out, and the thought definitely crossed his mind…before he sighed.

"Fuck." John shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead, face wrinkling as if he were in pain.

Sherlock's heart clenched at seeing John so uncharacteristically defeated and he stepped forward, plucked up a new mug and dropped a teabag in it. "Here. Allow me."

He made to move around John to the kettle, wanting to do something to help his friend (and what else would perk John up but a nice cup of tea?)- when the scent accosted his nostrils.

Sherlock physically recoiled from it, almost dropping the new mug in the process, and only fear of further upsetting John kept him from pinching his nose shut.

John smelled _horrible_. Acrid. Bitter and choking. Underneath, barely discernable, was the faintest whiff of something pleasant and _John_ but it was hidden, buried in the overpowering scent of Alpha. They'd had sex then, Sherlock's mind helpfully supplied as he moved even further away from John, unable to believe he hadn't smelled John as soon as he'd entered the flat. His senses must have been dulled after smelling the corpse for so long, he reasoned, trying not to breathe any more of the terrible smell, wondering if John would be offended if he opened a window.

"Sorry…about that." John frowned, fists clenching at his sides again, and he moved to leave the kitchen.

"If the two of you had sex, why did you leave?" Sherlock asked from a safe distance, breathing through his mouth, and John paused.

"Remember that talk about my private life being none of your business, Sherlock?"

"You said he treated you like a…fuck toy?"

John sighed, turning to face Sherlock again, obviously knowing to get the conversation over with sooner rather than later. "You know. The usual Alpha/Omega stuff."

Sherlock looked blankly at him.

"You know…." John elaborated cagily, gesturing uselessly with his hands. "What you'd…see in porn."

When Sherlock failed to respond, John sighed again.

"You've…never watched Alpha/Omega pornography?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Why would I have done?"

John chuckled, shaking his head incredulously. "Why would you have done?" He echoed. "Only you, Sherlock…Look, I'm not going to explain it to you. You can find out for yourself if you're that damn curious. Just…I don't like being treated like that. I don't know many Omegas that do. What's done in porn…it's not the same as real life."

Sherlock nodded slowly, realizing he needed more data to fully understand. "You bloodied his nose."

John snorted, smiling wryly, a bit of his own personality shining through the anger before he blanched, a convulsive shudder wracking his body, and his eyes clenched closed.

"_Christ_." He bit out, bowing over the tiniest bit before righting himself, staring at Sherlock from across the room. Sherlock could see his eyes, dilated and feverish, flicking between each of Sherlock's own. Speculative. John shuddered again and closed them, moving further away from Sherlock to the far side of the kitchen.

"Was he also the one who pinched your arse?"

"No. That happened on the tube. Some Alpha got a bit…grabby." John grated, his voice sounding more and more clogged. "Listen, I'm-"

"And the slap to your face?"

"Little old lady. Also on the tube. Said it was indecent- me being out in public…the way I was."

Sherlock understood that. Omegas weren't supposed to go out in public when they were in heat and John doing so was an egregious breach of etiquette. Not that Sherlock had ever cared for such stupid rules. Omegas were human beings and they had to go out in society just like everyone else. They couldn't sequester themselves indoors all day just because-

"Look…can I count on you for something?" John asked suddenly. "Would you bring up some water and something to eat later? I hate to ask but right now I can't….I was going to fix some things but…" John shook his head, glancing around the kitchen as if he didn't understand it. His face did another strange contortion and a tremor shook his body.

"John..." Sherlock started toward him, hand outstretched. "Are you-"

"Please, will you do that for me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't fail to notice the way John moved away from him as he stepped forward and Sherlock stopped in the entrance to the kitchen, letting his hand fall back at his side, feeling useless.

"What…what do you want me to bring?" He asked and John gave him a small smile.

"Doesn't matter. Anything edible. I'll…Well, I'll be staying here…the next few days. Don't suppose that will be a problem, will it?"

Sherlock felt a hot stab of anger at what he thought John was implying and drew himself up. "I can control myself," He began hotly but John winced, waving away his words.

"Course you can. I wasn't saying anything like that. I was just…" He cleared his throat. "Making sure." He gave Sherlock another smile and left.

Sherlock listened to the retreating sounds of John jogging up the stairs to his bedroom before quickly opening all the windows to air out the disgusting smell of Alpha that lingered after him.


	2. Chapter 2

"John's staying _here_ for his…special time?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at Mrs. Hudson's flowery euphemism for John's estrus. John always hated it too when the well-meaning landlady called what was a normal physical manifestation which didn't need elaborate, cheeky epitaphs his "special time." The last time Mrs. Hudson had done so in John's presence, Sherlock had thought John would break a tooth clenching his jaw so tightly in irritation.

"But he's never done before…" Mrs. Hudson's eyebrows lowered over her eyes in utter bemusement.

"Yes. Well. This time he's decided to…spend it here." Sherlock smiled at her, the sweet, innocent smile he knew she always liked to see and which usually got him a pat on the cheek and whatever it was he wanted.

"Oh, _Sherlock_!" Mrs. Hudson laughed, clapping her hands excitedly, and hurried forward to pat Sherlock on the cheek. "Isn't that wonderful? I knew it would turn out this way eventually- I just knew it!" She said smugly, stepping back and sighing happily, still grinning. "John's always so stubborn about these things- you know, _Omega_ things," She added in a theatrical whisper, "and I knew you were so unhappy even if you tried hiding it…well, at least he didn't make you wait too much longer, did he? And what a good Alpha you're being, making sure the two of you are fed properly over the next few days. Trust me," She said, stepping forward and patting a confused but slowly-becoming-horrified Sherlock on the cheek again, "the next few days, you won't even _think_ about food. When you smell your Omega-"

"_No_!" Sherlock barked, too loud in the tiny kitchen, desperate to stop his landlady's misguided, thrilled speech. Mrs. Hudson jumped, looking alarmed, and he offered her an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I- I mean…no. It's not…not the _two_ of us. It's just…just _him_."

"Just him?"

"Yes."

"But I thought-"

"You thought wrong. Obviously. John's staying here but he's not…we're not sharing his…" Sherlock gestured wordlessly, not wanting to have to explain, and Mrs. Hudson's face fell. She gave Sherlock a heartbreakingly sympathetic look.

"Oh, _Sherlock_, dear. I'm so sorry."

Sherlock quickly spun away, mouth uncomfortably dry and eyes smarting at the corners while his heart thudded and tripped in his chest. He pretended to inspect the bright green herbs Mrs. Hudson was growing on the windowsill above her sink, trying to pretend the situation he was in wasn't horribly, unbearably awkward. The sunny, normally cheerful, kitchen felt oppressive and he wished he could just leave. He didn't want to be here with Mrs. Hudson and her wrong assumptions and pitying gaze and hateful words that still echoed in his head.

"…_I knew you were so unhappy even if you tried hiding it…"_

Those words gutted him, left him feeling raw, flayed alive and Mrs. Hudson's eyes, still staring at him with _that_ expression on her face, was like rubbing salt in the wound. It smarted and burned and Sherlock wanted to get away from it.

But John needed supplies for later. He'd asked Sherlock to take care of it and was depending on him. Trusting him to take care of him. Sherlock didn't want to let him down.

He cleared his throat, clasped his hands behind his back, and stoically turned to face Mrs. Hudson again. "You're an Omega." Sherlock congratulated himself that his voice came out steady and reservered, as if he could care less what his landlady thought of…anything.

"Well…yes, but-"

"John said he needed food. For later." Sherlock steamrolled over whatever it was Mrs. Hudson wanted to say. "I've read an Omega's stomach can be very weak when they're experiencing their heat-"

"The things you say!" Mrs. Hudson admonished, blushing over the frankly obscene terminology. In _her_ day, they'd never called it a _heat_. What a coarse, crude thing. She'd always had a "special time" or having her "visitor." A "heat" was so…base.

"- and since you're an Omega you have experience with what you can and cannot eat. What works best. John didn't give me a list of things he couldn't eat and therefore I need meals cooked for him over the next few days- something light that won't irritate his stomach and make him feel…worse. And delivered to him directly. To his room."

"Sherlock-"

"Please."

Mrs. Hudson gave Sherlock a look, lips tightening, before sighing, shaking her head. "If that's what you need me to do…"

"Thank you." Sherlock kissed her cheek as he hastily made his way out, insides burning in shame as he jogged up the stairs. He hadn't been so…obvious in his affections. Surely he hadn't. No one else thought he was interested in John. Did they?

Of course not, he told himself as he entered the flat, wrinkling his nose at the rank smell of Alpha that still lingered. Mrs. Hudson was being facetious. She had an overwhelming tendency to do that.

He set a fan in the window, blowing fresh, clean air into the sitting room, and then collapsed on the sofa. All the experiments he'd lined up in the kitchen were forgotten after the stunning turn of events: John was back in the flat, a whole 3 days earlier than Sherlock had expected, and would be here for the remainder of his heat.

And while having John back made Sherlock feel happy- because they were _friends_, he thought fiercely, and he liked having his friend with him- he couldn't dispel the disquiet in the pit of his stomach that nagged at him, refused to let him concentrate on anything else.

"_I hit him because I don't like being treated like a goddamn fucktoy, Sherlock."_

"_You know. The usual Alpha/Omega stuff… What you'd see in porn."_

"_You've never watched Alpha/Omega pornography?"_

Sherlock rolled off the sofa, snagged John's laptop, and opened it with a feeling of extreme trepidation.

* * *

John bit his lip to muffle his cry as he came, tears of pure relief springing to his eyes. Pleasure, warm and cloying and thankfully (good god, _thankfully_) satisfying, swamped his body. He shoved the silicone toy, colored a lurid, perverted red, into his body, the faux knot keeping it snugly inside. It was enough to trick his heat-addled body into thinking he'd been successfully mated…for a few hours at least.

His arms and legs were shaky after fucking himself nonstop the past few hours in search of ever-elusive relief. His chest heaved, sweat slicking his skin, and John closed his eyes, panting, before slumping forward, collapsing onto his front with a tired groan.

He hated being an Omega. He'd always hated it.

He remembered growing up, desperately wanting to be an Alpha- even a Beta would've been better than being a useless Omega. Being thought less of. Always having to prove himself, over and over to every new person he was introduced to who, as soon as they realized he was an Omega, made assumptions about what that meant for him as a person.

He'd hated it.

Of course, Harry had been born an Alpha. A stupid, pushy, know-it-all Alpha. She'd let John know she was superior on a daily basis.

"_What're you gonna do, runt? Cry like a whiny little Omega?"_

"_Johnny, you do know your new girlfriend's a Beta, right? She's not gonna be able to help you when you start _wetting_ yourself."_

"_My girlfriend's an Omega. Maybe the two of you could get together and trade recipes sometime."_

"_Rugby, John? Really? Is this just an excuse for you to take all the Alpha's knots during halftime?"_

John sighed, huffing into the cool of his pillow. It'd been almost two decades since Harry's taunts but they still stung.

And then events like today just brought them all to the fore again. Hot anger washed through John's chest at the memory of that morning and he clenched his teeth, wishing he'd done more than punch Michael in the face.

He'd met Alphas like Michael before. The ones who thought just because they were Alpha they were God's gift to the planet, that all Omega's were beneath them. That Omega's were just _things_ to be bred and mated and-

John cut that train of thought off, not wanting to get worked up again. Right now, he needed to rest, to sleep as much as he could until the next wave of his heat started. God knew he'd get precious little sleep in the coming days.

His arse spasmed around the toy inside him, a biological response to an Alpha's knot, fruitlessly trying to milk more come into his body to ensure a successful mating. John tensed at the sensation, feeling ridiculous as the silicone toy slid deeper inside him. He would rather have died than let anyone see him in this state. Naked and covered in sweat. Body jittering in arousal. Thick, knotted toy shoved inside him. Laying in a mess of his own ejaculations.

John wrinkled his nose, disgusted but knowing there wasn't anything to be done about it. If he cleaned up now, he'd just be cleaning up every few hours. His heat lasted for days and he'd just get filthy again. It was less appealing when it was just him, though. It felt like laying in his own filth.

At least when he was with someone, sharing his heat with a friendly Alpha, he didn't feel so horrible, so soiled. It was also easier. His body responded better and quicker to an Alpha's knot, granting him the satisfaction his body demanded. The silicone knot could only fool his body for so long before it realized he wasn't being properly mated and the next wave of his heat started, earlier than ever, demanding the real thing.

John shifted to find a cooler spot on the bed, his skin feeling as if tiny ants were crawling all over it, eliciting non-stop shivers. He hadn't had to go through a heat alone since… He frowned. It had to be since he was in his early twenties and he'd come to the depressing, life-altering realization that he was part of the measly 2% of Omegas who experienced trouble with suppressants.

"Trouble with suppressants." John snorted derisively. That was putting it mildly.

And the rub of it was, he'd almost asked Sherlock if he wanted to share his heat with him, if he wanted to mate with him- just this once- because the alternative, being by himself, was almost too much to bear.

John shuddered, remembering his moment of weakness downstairs in the kitchen. He could just imagine Sherlock's appalled, offended face if he'd asked him. It would have irreparably damaged their friendship and John didn't want that.

Besides, he could do this. He could have a heat by himself. He wasn't some weak, wilting Omega who needed an Alpha to take care of them. He could do this himself.

He forced himself to go to sleep, was almost drifting off, when he heard the sounds of angry voices downstairs.

* * *

Sherlock clicked through the first few web sites the search engine brought up dedicated to Alpha/Omega pornography. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. He'd never felt the need to view pornography himself- only see the signs of it having been viewed in others- and John hadn't specified what he should look at. He'd said the "usual" but…what was usual when it came to pornography?

It didn't help that there were _multitudes_ of sites devoted strictly to Alpha/Omega pornography, separated by categories the names of which made Sherlock's stomach churn:

Forced heat

Fisting

Squirting

Pregnancy

Huge knots

Omega begging

First heat

Teen

D/S

S/M

BDSM

Sherlock, stymied by the myriad of options, used the search engine on one of the more popular sites to narrow the results down by those most viewed. After another thirty minutes' research, he finally settled on a video dubiously entitled "Fit Alpha takes begging Omega from behind." It looked…safer than the others and the tags were relatively tame.

He made sure to plug in his headphones before starting the video, not wanting to alert Mrs. Hudson or John to what he was doing.

The video started with close-up shots of the Omega, a pretty young man, lean and pale, with thick, dark auburn hair and flushed cheeks lying on a bed. He was obviously in heat, unable to remain still, little whimpers issuing non-stop from his throat. The camera lovingly panned over his body, capturing the signs of his heat- mouth open as he panted and moaned, skin flushed, body noticeably shivering, wracked with waves of helpless arousal, nipples pebbled, hands fisting rhythmically in the sheets, small cock standing out from a smooth, hairless pelvis, hard and untouched.

"P-please…I need…-" The Omega sobbed, arching against the bed, eyes glazed. He stared at someone behind the camera, his pupils blown so wide he looked blind. "I can't w-wait anymore- Please, can't you just..." He squirmed, grinding his arse down against the bed. "God, _please_!"

"I'm here, baby."

The Alpha entered from the side and the desperate sound the Omega made when he scented him was enough to make Sherlock's penis twitch in vague interest. He ruthlessly tamped down on the feeling, not wanting the distraction, and adjusted the laptop on his lap, peering keenly at the screen.

"Poor little thing. You want it bad. Huh, baby? You want my big, Alpha cock filling you up?" The Alpha cooed mockingly and the Omega whimpered, squirming on the sheets, legs scissoring open in blatant invitation.

"Oh…please. _Please_- I n-need it."

"Need what?"

"Need…need your cock. Need your knot- want…want it filling me up. S-stretching me." The Omega's eyes slammed closed and he tilted his hips up, small cock jerking against his stomach. "_Plleeassse_!"

The Alpha stroked his own cock, eyeing the trembling, writhing mass of flesh laid out in front of him calculatingly, grinning when the Omega kept begging.

"On your knees. I want to see that pretty mouth of yours sucking my cock." The Alpha said and the Omega gave a gasp of relief, scrambling to obey, rolling off the bed and onto their knees. "Show me how much you want it, slut. And I _might_ give it to you."

"Thank you, god, thank you-" The Omega immediately engulfed the cock in his mouth, taking it down most of the way, not gagging, a talent belying his otherwise virginal appearance, and began taking quick, greedy sucks on the large organ. The Alpha moaned, running his fingers through the Omega's hair and pulling him closer, forcing him to take his cock deeper into his throat. The Omega choked briefly, tears springing to his eyes as he gagged, but he relaxed and kept going. The camera zoomed in on various parts of the act- the Omega's worshipful, watery gaze, his slender hands rolling and teasing at the low-hanging testicles of the Alpha, the Alpha's blissful expression as he used the Omega's mouth, barely even glancing down at him as he pumped his hips, pushing his cock in and out of the willing mouth at his feet. The Omega's cock was still hard, ignored, but his hips twitched needily as he sucked the Alpha's cock, thighs spreading where he was knelt on their own volition.

"Fuck…maybe I should just knot your mouth." The Alpha grated out and he laughed at the resultant whine from the Omega. "Look at you. Little bitch just begging to be bred, aren't you? Hm? I bet your pussy's dripping with it. Your pussy all nice and wet for me, baby?"

The Omega made a garbled sound around his cock and the Alpha smirked.

"Want me to look, slut? Want me to taste your cute little pussy?" He caressed the back of the Omega's head, an out of place gentleness in counterpoint to the greedy thrust of his hips. "Get in position then, bitch." He jerked his cock out of the Omega's mouth and the smaller man hurried to turn onto his hands and knees, presenting himself, spreading his legs and dropping his shoulders to the floor.

The Alpha's cock was hard, bobbing between his legs and the camera panned in on that, tracing one of the veins from where it started near his testicles to the very tip where precome was already welling in milky droplets. He squeezed his cock, tugging at it a few times, and the camera followed that as well, focusing on the slowly forming knot at the base as he stroked himself, the Omega's litany of "please" providing the background accompaniment.

"_Ohhhh_!" The Omega moaned, loud and obscene, when the Alpha pulled his arse cheeks apart, spreading them and revealing his hole which the camera immediately focused on.

Sherlock, never having seen an Omega in such a position before except in medical textbooks, watched with morbid fascination.

Clear fluid, thick and viscous, leaked from the dilated, dusky red entrance. It ran down the Omega's thighs, slicking between them, creating a glossy sheen over his skin. Even as Sherlock watched, the camera followed a trail of the fluid that dripped down the Omega's thigh, finally spattering onto the carpet below. Sherlock wondered if that much natural lubricant were normal or if they'd given the Omega something to produce so much…slick.

"You're soaked." The Alpha breathed, forcefully inserting his thumbs into the Omega's entrance and pulling his hole apart, ignoring the Omega's distressed cry and humming contentedly when even more lubricant sluiced out. "Fuck, you're _dripping_. Want me to pound your pussy? You want that?"

"Oh, oh- Please- please knot me! Knot me! I need your knot so much! Need you filling me up! I need it- Please, Alpha, please…"

The Alpha shuffled forward on his knees and the camera zeroed in on his cock, poised at the opening for a breathless few seconds…before he shoved his thick cock into the Omega with one sharp, hard thrust.

The Omega _screamed_. The Alpha gripped his hips to keep him from moving away, fingers digging in and leaving white marks which darkened in front of Sherlock's eyes, turning into bruises almost immediately.

"Like that, bitch?" The Alpha growled before he pulled out, the camera once more focusing on his cock, following the trail of slick that clung to the tip of it, connecting him to the Omega even as he drew further away. The Omega whined, pushing back greedily, wanting more, and the Alpha smacked his arse.

"Greedy slut." He shoved in again, testicles bumping repeatedly against the Omega's arse as he started pistoning in and out of his arse.

It was a rough and hard and fast coupling, the Alpha grunting with every powerful heave inside the small, pliable body beneath him. The Omega's cock was hard, flushed a deep, angry red, and looked painful but neither the Omega nor the Alpha moved to touch it. The camera almost totally ignored it too, only getting it in the shot on what seemed like accident when it shot the scene from below the Omega's body, devotedly capturing the way the Alpha's knot was expanding, catching repeatedly on the Omega's rim.

"Gonna knot you." The Alpha moaned after a few minutes, during which time he fucked the Omega into incoherence. "You ready, slut? Gonna knot you and fill you up. Make you my little bitch just like you know you are." The Alpha panted breathlessly and the Omega whined, plaintive, helpless little noises. The Alpha grabbed the Omega's hair, wrenching his head back at a hard angle and used this as an anchor to pound harder into the body beneath him.

The camera was there as the Alpha thrust a few more times, slow and cruel, teasing the sobbing Omega who was now ceaselessly begging for release, begging for the knot over and over in a high-pitched, pathetic voice. Sherlock shifted uncomfortable, feeling extremely sorry for him.

The Alpha grinned, chuckling darkly, before, without warning…he _shoved_ his knot into the Omega.

"Oh _fuuuuck_…fuck…fuck….fuck-" The Alpha groaned, hips moving restlessly and the camera zoomed in on his knot as it pulsed rhythmically, pushing out semen over and over. The red rim of the Omega's arse was raw and stretched around the large knot and he cried out as the Alpha pushed himself even deeper inside his body, even though there wasn't room and he was obviously hurting the Omega now.

The video ended with a shot of the two men, mated together, the Omega curled and small looking, silent now, in stark contrast to the broad-shouldered, proud stance of the Alpha.

Sherlock closed the laptop, feeling sick. He stared at the door of the flat, eyes glazed, not really seeing it. Not really seeing anything as his mind replayed the video.

He wished he hadn't watched it.

All he could think of was John in the Omega's position. Desperate and needy. Normally stoic and strong but reduced to begging. Diminished. Being _used_ by an unfeeling, egotistical Alpha who didn't give a toss whether or not John was enjoying himself, just concerned about knotting him. Delighting in John's debasement.

Sherlock lost track of how long he sat on the sofa, John's laptop in his lap, staring into space as scenario after scenario played through his mind of how John's earlier encounter had gone. The twisting feeling in his stomach gained in intensity, until he couldn't bear it anymore. He was fiercely glad John had punched Michael O'Flannery…but he felt that the man deserved a more _lasting_ reminder of what happened when one treated John Watson badly.

Mind made up, Sherlock hastily set aside John's laptop and strode to the door. 268 West Reynolds Street was 25 minutes away if he hailed a cab. He could be at Michael O'Flannery's flat in 20 minutes if he offered the driver enough money-

"Excuse you, young man! You aren't allowed to just come inside without permission! I have to insist you leave!"

Sherlock paused in the act of pulling on his gloves, cocking his head at the sound of Mrs. Hudson's indignant scold.

It seemed he wouldn't need a cab after all.

* * *

Michael O'Flannery stood in the entryway, Mrs. Hudson's hands splayed on his chest, ineffectually pushing at him. His cheek was darkened with a large bruise and his left eye was red and swollen. Only a glancing blow the second time, Sherlock thought. The first punch John had landed Michael hadn't expected and it'd been a direct hit. But once he'd been alerted he was under attack, he'd turned and the black eye John had planned on giving him was ruined.

"I said you're not allowed to be here!" Mrs. Hudson said sternly, pushing at him again but Michael resisted.

"I'm not going anywhere until I've seen John-"

"Which won't be happening." Sherlock smoothly interrupted, buttoning his jacket as he descended the stairs. As if he would ever let this man near John ever again. Michael's head snapped up and his already angry posture went even more rigid. His nostrils flared wide as he scented the air and Sherlock rolled his eyes at the obvious display. Alpha displays like that were _so_ five years ago.

"Who the fuck are you?" Michael demanded, hands curling into fists at his sides and the gesture reminded Sherlock forcibly of the Omega he'd seen on the video. It was all too easy to imagine this Alpha brute forcing John down onto the bed, shoving himself inside-

Sherlock smiled coolly, descending a few more steps. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Are you John's Alpha?" Michael sneered, rudely sizing Sherlock up. He snorted. "No wonder he came to me. Fairy like you could never satisfy him. The two of you have an understanding? He gets to go out and get fucked proper? Like an Omega like him deserves. Do you even have a knot?"

"I believe you were told to leave."

"And I believe _I_ said that I wasn't leaving without John." Michael's face contorting in a hateful expression. "I know he's here. I could fucking _smell_ him from down the street. He's gagging for it like the slutty Omega he is."

A swift leap down the remaining few stairs, a quick chop, and Michael was bent double, wheezing as he clutched at his throat, eyes streaming in pain. Another few quick maneuvers and blood blossomed from his nose and mouth and he staggered against the front door. Sherlock grabbed him, wrenching the door open.

"Assault!" Michael shouted, voice garbled from pain. "How dare you- I'll call the coppers!"

"By all means." Sherlock shoved him outside, watching with dark relish as he stumbled, off-kilter, and went down on the pavement on his knees. "Pay phone's round the corner." He slammed the door closed and turned to face Mrs. Hudson. A furtive movement from up the stairs caught his eye and he wondered, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, how much of the encounter John had witnessed.


	3. Chapter 3

_3 Days Later_

John slumped at the kitchen table, his head resting on his folded arms, feeling like death warmed over. He didn't want to move, didn't want to think, didn't want to even _exist_ at the moment. He'd never felt so bad in his entire life (barring when he'd been shot in Afghanistan) and if the ground had inexplicably opened up and swallowed him whole, he wouldn't have put up a struggle.

He was _exhausted_.

Every inch of his body hurt. His knees were red and rubbed raw from hours upon hours of kneeling and slipping and sliding on his damp sheets. The muscles in his arms were pulled from forcefully pumping the knotted dildo in and out of his arse in desperate search of relief and his shoulders, especially his bad one, were strained from the uncomfortable position of reaching behind him. His arse twinged and smarted, making sitting down torture, and his cock ached and throbbed, the skin sensitive and raw. It gave his walk a hobbling, bandy-legged stance which John was sure broadcast to everyone what he'd been up to.

Which was thankfully over now. This morning, he'd woken and…nothing. His heat was over, the prickly, uncomfortable arousal suddenly gone and leaving in its wake a multitude of aches and pains. It'd left John tired. In more than one way. His body may have been drained but it was an exhaustion that went beyond the aches of his body and pervaded his very soul.

He'd dragged himself sluggishly into the shower earlier, standing under the spray for an interminable amount of time, letting the warm water sluice away the rank sweat and crusty patina of his own ejaculate and wetness covering his skin. He'd shaved, slowly pulling the razor over his stubbly face, and put on clean clothes, neatly buttoned and tucked in all the right places…but the dark circles under John's eyes and the deepened lines around his mouth revealed the exhaustion beneath the put-together veneer. His skin was pale and haggard and when he moved, it was slowly, every little motion pulling on strained muscles and hurting places he'd rather not think about.

He sighed, studying his hurting hands, rubbing absently at the joints in an attempt to assuage the pain.

Tea sounded wonderful. A hot breakfast sounded even better. His stomach rumbled, hoping for something more than the bland broth and dry toast Mrs. Hudson had left outside his door the last few days. Tea and breakfast required movement, though, required an effort that felt too tremendous to contemplate. John sighed again and remained slumped where he was, concentrating on trying to exist from one moment to the next.

Sherlock was still asleep- or at least, he was still in his bedroom, the door shut and everything quiet within, for which John was pathetically grateful. He didn't think he could handle dealing with his flatmate so early in the morning when he felt so _raw_ after the events of the previous days, the long, never ending hours spent in his bedroom, all by himself, trying to assuage the horrible ache that was his heat. Coherent thought breaking down. Arousal. Desperation. Striving and sweating and reaching for relief. A brief respite and then…the cycle began again. Over and over until John had thought he'd go mad.

He'd forgotten how terrible going through a heat alone could be. _How_ he'd managed to forgot something like that, John didn't know. It was a traumatic experience. Scarring. One never forgot something like that but after so long, John reasoned, the horrific arousal that was almost never sated diminished into memory. Became less acute.

There had been nothing diminished or lessened about John's heat this time.

It had been awful.

More than once John had thought of calling for Sherlock and asking him to help with his heat. Begging him to help, if need be. The part of him he despised, the soft, vulnerable _Omega_ part of him, had been excessively, disgustingly pleased with Sherlock's possessive Alpha display when Michael had forced his way into their flat. The way Sherlock had come to John's defense- hitting Michael and threatening him, forcing him from the flat- stirred that part of John that was Omega and craved an Alpha. A big, strong, virile Alpha…and it was a scene he'd replayed in his head over and over during his heat, hating himself a little more every time he did it, coming with a muffled shout into his pillow, arse spasming around the dildo as he did.

He hadn't asked Sherlock to help, though. Thank god. John didn't think he would've been able to live with himself if he had. If he had begged Sherlock, cock hard between his thighs and slick _leaking_ from his arse, to fuck him…and Sherlock, feeling sorry for him, had said yes…

It was a scenario not worth contemplating. It made John feel sick. Made him feel like less of a person and more like an animal with no self-control.

And John, despite the misery he was currently in, was fervently glad he hadn't asked Sherlock. That he hadn't woken up that morning to Sherlock beside him, naked, hair disheveled and smelling of John and sex, and had to deal with the awkwardness afterward. It would have ruined their friendship. Sherlock never would have looked at John the same way again. John would never have forgive himself.

He rubbed his forehead against the soft texture of his sleeve, ears alert in case Sherlock came out of his room. He didn't want Sherlock to see him like this. It was already bad enough he'd seen John in heat, fresh from being knotted, and having to deal with an out-of-control Alpha.

The memory made John's insides curl in shame and rage burned like a low banked fire. Michael wasn't the first Alpha he'd met who treated him like a fun, willing fuck toy during his heats. He would be the last, though. He couldn't do this again. He couldn't. The idea of seeking out another Alpha- to add to his already endless string of them- after the debacle with Michael (of which Sherlock had been witness to) made John feel disgusting. Cheap. Low and dirty. No, that avenue was now closed to him.

Which left only one option.

Suppressants.

John pulled a face. God, he _hated_ the idea of taking suppressants. He hated the idea of going through another heat again more, though.

A slight noise made him turn his head and John startled when he saw Sherlock standing silently in the doorway to the kitchen, a small frown on his face as he stared at John. John immediately pulled himself up, wincing when his muscles shrieked their protest. He tried at a smile but it felt extremely forced.

"Didn't know you were up." Even his voice sounded hoarse, from repeated moaning and muffling his frustrated cries in his pillow when the faux knot once again failed to induce his much-needed orgasm.

"I've only just."

John nodded, hoping Sherlock wasn't lying. "Thought we'd have a small breakfast this morning." He said, trying to sound normal, steeling himself for the arduous task of standing up. "Not really feeling up to anything else. You?"

"Not hungry."

"Thought as much." John smiled wanly up at Sherlock before leveraging himself out of his seat, hands planted on the table to give him more leverage, arms shaking under the strain and knees threatening to buckle beneath him. He couldn't stop the hiss of pain and he saw, from the corner of his eye, Sherlock reach out to help him.

"I'm fine." John grated, ignoring the offered hand, feeling resentful at the betrayal of his own body. Of having to be an Omega in the first place. Of interfering Alpha's who thought they were superior simply because they had fucking knots. He did _not_ want any help. From anyone. He could do this himself.

"John-"

"I said I'm fine." He snapped, turning away from Sherlock and hobbling to the fridge. "Eggs and toast sound ok?"

* * *

Sherlock had been watching John for a while, tucked at the table, looking small and defeated. He'd known when John came downstairs, had listened to his slow progress through the flat, deducing his various aches and pains from his gangly tread. When John had settled in the kitchen, Sherlock had snuck down the hall and stared at him, eyes fitting around his body, concern growing with each passing minute as he observed the pained way John held himself, the hitching breaths and stifled curses with each movement.

Sherlock was glad he'd lied about just getting up. It was worth it to see the relieved expression on John's face. It was obvious he didn't want Sherlock to see him like this and Sherlock, while hurt by it, wasn't surprised. John was always so fiercely independent.

To a fault.

Sherlock impotently watched John shuffle around the kitchen and wished he'd thought to get up early and fix breakfast. He should have _known_ John wouldn't feel well the day after his heat, wouldn't be up to fixing himself _and_ Sherlock breakfast. And besides, didn't the Alpha's John spent his heats with fix him breakfast? Give him food? Take care of him?

Angry with himself, Sherlock watched John push bread into the toaster with a pained wince and set the kettle to boil. He opened the fridge with obvious trepidation and carefully pulled out the butter dish and jam.

"Sorry I was such a dick to you the other day."

Sherlock hadn't been expecting John to break the silence and he jerked out of his thoughts, surprised. John wasn't looking at him, was fiddling with his hands, rubbing at them. They were obviously stiff, like the rest of John's body, and Sherlock wondered why.

"You didn't-"

"Yeah, I was. I was a right cock, Sherlock. And…I'm sorry."

Sherlock cocked his head to the side, studying John.

"Ok?"

"Of course."

"Great." John flashed him a quick smile before dropping his eyes again and looking discomfited. "Um…also…I want to thank you for…uh. For dealing with Michael. That day. You didn't really have to do that but I appreciate it all the-"

"What do you mean I didn't have to do it?" Sherlock broke in, scoffing. "Of course I did."

"No, you _didn't_, Sherlock." John replied tightly. "It was uncalled for. I could have handled it."

Angry incredulity surged in Sherlock's chest. He had thought he'd done well handling Michael, tossing him out on his arse and protecting John…and now John was taking him to task for it? "Like you 'handled it' when you were at his flat?" He knew he was hitting below the belt but after three days of wondering _why_ John had chosen _Michael_ to share his heat with- an overbearing, domineering Alpha instead of-

Sherlock stopped that train of thought. It was dangerous to think that way.

John, for his part, looked equally furious. "_Exactly_ like I fucking handled it when I was at his flat. I didn't need you _then_, Sherlock, and I didn't need you when he came here. I would have handled it."

"While you were in heat."

John snarled. "_Yes_, while I was in heat. That doesn't make me fucking incapable of taking care of myself-"

"An Omega's heat leaves them vulnerable and addled and, in general, highly susceptible to an Alpha's advances-"

"What?" John's voice lashed out low and furious, like a whip. He stepped forward, invading Sherlock's personal space. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Sherlock floundered over his words. It was heady, being this close to John. Sherlock could see the angry glint in John's eye, smell the clean scent of his soap and, beneath that, a rich, musky smell that reminded Sherlock of-

"So the truth finally comes out. Mm? What you _really_ think of me." John spat and Sherlock took a step back, knowing he'd lost control of the situation. "You think I'm just some sniveling little Omega gagging for a knot-"

"No, John-"

"Who can't take care of themselves and needs a big, strong, strapping Alpha to make them complete-"

"I-"

"To take it up the arse with a please and thank you and that I'm only good for being bred-"

"John-"

"And that nothing up here-" He gestured angrily at his head, "makes a goddamn bit of difference so long as I have-"

"Yoo hoo!" Mrs. Hudson knocked cheerily on the door. "Breakfast!" The happy smile melted from her face as she glanced between Sherlock and John, one white in the face and looking startled and the other appearing as if he were on the verge of assault. "Oh, dear. Did I interrupt something?"

John whirled away from Sherlock, as fast as he was able, and stalked back into the kitchen.

Eyebrows raised, Mrs. Hudson gave Sherlock a look behind John's back. He shook his head and she sighed, setting the tray down on the table in the sitting room.

* * *

The atmosphere was tense. Mrs. Hudson silently puttered around the flat, clearing up, not daring to hum and break the silence, while Sherlock and John ate. John tucked into his breakfast with terse, angry movements, stabbing at his plate as if his eggs had personally offended him.

Sherlock glanced down the hall where Mrs. Hudson was cleaning the loo and cleared his throat. John didn't look up from his plate.

"John…I'm sorry."

He was ignored and, after John's outburst, Sherlock wasn't surprised. John was still obviously furious with him. He glanced down the hall again to make sure they were still alone.

"What I said was uncalled for. I was wrong."

John's fork made a sharp screech on the plate and Sherlock winced.

"I don't have any experience with…Omegas and their…cycles." He picked carefully over his words, not wanting to say something again and set John off. "I…what I've learned is all second-hand. On the internet. In the past three days…and probably shoddy and incomplete." He bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth. "I didn't mean to insinuate you were in any way deficient in mental capacities…or were…less than…anyone else-"

"Mm. So when you said I wouldn't have been able to handle the situation because I, as an Omega, would have been 'susceptible to an Alpha's advances' what exactly did you mean by that?"

Sherlock dithered. That was a line he'd read from a popular Omega website and at the time, it'd made sense. If an Omega's heat was as overwhelming as all the websites said…wouldn't they be more susceptible to being taken advantage of? Wouldn't they, as the site had further explained, _want_ to be taken advantage of?

Obviously, the site had been wrong. Tremendously so, but Sherlock didn't know how to fix this, how to explain to John why he'd thought something which had offended him.

John was glaring at him, jaw clenched. "Well?"

"I watched pornography." Sherlock blurted out, flushing when John's eyes comically widened and the sounds of Mrs. Hudson cleaning the loo abruptly ceased.

"Well." John blinked, looking embarrassed. "That's…all right…"

"You told me that was how Michael had treated you so I watched it. And it correlated with what I'd read online, how the Omega was acting. Mindless. Begging." Sherlock elaborated, rushing to get it all out but John was staring at him, listening to every word. "They almost weren't human, just obsessed with their heat and how they felt and….I've never seen an Omega in heat before and…I had nothing else to go on. Obviously I was wrong."

John silently studied Sherlock for almost a full minute and Sherlock knew his friend was trying to decide whether or not to get even angrier at him or forgive him.

Finally, John sighed and sat back in his chair. "I'm still me when I'm in heat, Sherlock. I'm still there, in my head. It's not like what you see in pornography. They play it up and feed into Alpha fantasies of having a willing toy to play with." His lips quirked up in a self-deprecating smile. "Should've known better than to tell you to watch pornography for information about this. Guess it's a bit my fault." John smiled tiredly at Sherlock and he felt his own lips curving upward in a relieved, happy smile, before he squared his shoulders, wanting to say something else.

"John…I want you to know that I would never insult you or your gender and that…you're the one person I…respect….and hold in the highest regard. Above everyone else. It's…impossible for me to think less of you. No matter what."

"Ta, Sherlock." John said, looking strangely touched before he ducked his head, staring at his hands again.

"John, can I get you more tea?" Mrs. Hudson asked tentatively, poking her head around the doorway, sensing the difference of tension in the room. John beamed at her.

"That would be great, Mrs. Hudson. And I wanted to thank you for the food these last few days. I've really appreciated it."

"Oh, it wasn't anything, John. I was happy to help." Mrs. Hudson tittered, coming into the sitting room with the kettle and pouring out for both her boys. "I'm just happy you were here and safe instead of with that O'something-or-other chap. Mitchell or whatever his name was. He was incredibly rude to me and Sherlock, you know. Imagine, him thinking he could storm right in here and get you! Pushy. I knew so many Alpha's like that when I was younger. Always posturing and possessive. Lord, how possessive they could be. Of course," She smiled fondly, "they all wanted me. I was sweet and of course back then I had a body that just wouldn't quit-"

"Fascinating. I think we're out of toast." Sherlock hurriedly interrupted her and she glanced down at the table.

"Oh. Right. I'll just go make more. John? Would you like more eggs, dear?"

"No, thank you."

"Are you sure? You're looking awfully peaky, dear. You'll want to build up your strength after these last few days. I'll make you another few. You're sure to be exhausted. I remember my heats before the Change." Not aware she was making John uncomfortable, she bustled around the table, still chattering away. "Oh, Sherlock, I forgot to mention but that Inspector chap called for you yesterday. He said something about needing you to consult on something or other."

"Was it a case?" Sherlock asked hopefully, ears perking up at the prospect of something to do. He'd stayed cooped up at the flat during John's heat, feeling strangely reluctant to leave him alone in the flat, afraid John would need something and be unable to get it for himself.

"I don't think so. He distinctly said 'consult.' Several times, as a matter of fact."

Sherlock grunted noncommittally and stood from the table, glancing at John. "Are you coming?"

John grimaced, not moving an inch from his slouch. "Don't think I'm up to it today. You go ahead. I've got stuff to do here anyway."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. Better let Lestrade know you're coming. Must be worried since you didn't go yesterday."

"Doubtful." Sherlock said, pulling on his coat and pecking Mrs. Hudson on the cheek, feeling incredibly thankful for her and all her help- even if she did talk too much. "He would have called again if it were important. I'm sure it will be dull." He paused in the doorway, almost asked John if he would be ok, if he needed Sherlock to stay and take care of him…but John still looked tense and Sherlock didn't want to make him mad at him again. A quick, meaningful glance at Mrs. Hudson confirmed the elderly lady would stay with John and make sure he was fine and so Sherlock, feeling better since he knew John would be in capable hands, trundled down the stairs and out the door.

* * *

"Don't think I didn't see that." John said as soon as the door shut behind the Alpha. "I know what you and Sherlock are up to."

Mrs. Hudson turned to him with wide, innocent eyes. "I'm sure I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about, John." She replied airily, turning on the oven to preheat. "I just thought I'd finish cleaning up here a bit- Sherlock's let it get out of hand again- and then make us all a nice roast for dinner. Oh- I meant to tell you: I ran into Mrs. Turner's married ones down at the corner the other day- such nice young men. Well…"

John resignedly sat back and listened to his landlady prattle on about all the gossip he'd missed in the last three days, knowing he was being mothered but didn't have the heart to tell her to bugger off as he would have done Sherlock.

And they'd each known that about him.

Fuck.


	4. Chapter 4

John took suppressants for the first time when he was 17.

Until that point, he hadn't needed them. His heats were short and quick. Intermittent. Hardly worth mentioning. He woke up, sweating and hot, a bit of thin natural lubricant slicking the tops of his thighs…and a few hours of frantic masturbation later his heat was over. Sometimes he didn't even need to use the knotted dildo his mother had bought him. And lord, _that_ had been an awkward conversation: His quiet Omega mother coming in, still in her scrubs from work, and explaining the changes his body was going through and how, though he may not need it now, in maybe another year or two he would and would John like her to show him how the dildo worked? The entire interaction had been emotionally scarring and even though John knew his mother had been trying to help, trying to prepare him for what was going to happen to him, he still resented it.

John wasn't worried about his lack of heats, though. It was normal for an Omega just presenting, going through all the hormonal changes of adolescence, to have mild, irregular heats. Nothing like the all-consuming, days-long heats they could expect when they grew older. John secretly hoped his heats would never change, that maybe there was something wrong with him and that he'd always have insignificant, forgettable heats.

The year he turned 17, everything changed.

One night, he came home from school exhausted after rugby practice, his muscles twinging and movements stiff. He felt like he had a fever, his stomach cramping, shivers wracking his body. He gulped down a bit of dinner and took a mild pain reliever before bed, falling into an uneasy, miserable sleep.

The next morning, he woke to a nightmare.

The pleasant, fun arousal of his heats was now an ache, a throbbing, urgent _need._ John could feel it in his very _bones_. He burned from the inside out. Tiny ants marched beneath his skin and he couldn't get them out. Arousal was hot and heavy in his groin. His body physically hurt, clamoring for relief, for an end to the torment. Nothing his mother told him had prepared him for _this_.

This was horrible.

Torture.

Stroking himself with his hand was useless. The dildo ineffectual. He couldn't take it. He couldn't. John screamed and sobbed and begged but there was nothing- literally nothing- to be done.

His mother came in at some point and tried to soothe him, but he screamed at her to get out, cringing in on himself. He didn't want her to see him like this: crying, lubricant snaking down his legs, body writhing, hole clenching around a dildo, cock painfully hard and purple between his thighs because he couldn't make himself _get off. _He didn't even feel like himself, like John Watson. He felt like another person, a weak, sniveling _thing_ that just wanted sex, wanted an Alpha's knot, wanted to come. He couldn't see his family. Couldn't see his friends. Couldn't go to school. He was stuck in his bedroom, working his body frantically like a wild animal, unable to orgasm, stomach too upset to eat because he was so aroused and he couldn't make it _stop_.

Finally, on the second day, he managed it, body shuddering through an orgasm that wasn't even pleasurable anymore, just signaled an end to the torment. For the moment. John collapsed onto his sweaty sheets, sobbing and gasping for air, and started crying because he knew it wasn't over. There was more of this. Another day. Maybe two.

He thought he'd go mad.

He managed to get through the rest of his heat clinging to his sanity. Barely. As soon as it was over and he emerged from his room, weak with hunger and fatigued from his exertions, he'd gone to the doctor and went on suppressants.

The suppressant pills were huge, pink capsules that smelled funny. John took them with a large glass of water twice a day at mealtimes without fail. Taking his suppressants became his new religion.

And the suppressants worked. He didn't have another heat.

He also stopped being able to orgasm. For the first few weeks taking his suppressants, John immediately noticed it was difficult to come, that he had to wank for an hour or more before he ejaculated. But he still managed it so he shrugged it off. If it took him longer to come but he stopped having heats, he'd take it. Besides, everyone wanted a boy that was able to last a long time, right? It was fine.

Then the orgasms stopped.

And he stopped getting erections.

He no longer woke up in the mornings hard. When he tried wanking, his cock remained stubbornly flaccid. It didn't feel the same either, was less sensitive. Rubbing his cock became as exciting as rubbing his leg.

* * *

"Heat suppressant-induced sexual dysfunction isn't a very common problem, Mr. Watson." John's doctor, an elderly Alpha who took too long during John's pelvic exam, explained when John told him what he was going through. "Only 2% of healthy, sexually mature Omegas have this reaction to suppressants. Are you sure you're not taking anything else….recreationally?"

John tightened his lips at the insinuation. "No. I'm not on drugs."

"Well. You can't blame me for asking. If you were on narcotics, and you stopped taking them, this problem would clear right up." He gave John a look from beneath his bushy brows. "Just so you're aware, Mr. Watson." He cleared his throat while John tried not to throttle him. "Well. If you're experiencing these sorts of symptoms, there are other suppressants you can try. I'll need to do another exam before I feel comfortable prescribing them to you, though."

"But my last exam was six weeks ago." John reminded him, jaw clenching, anger simmering in his gut. He hated having his doctor give him an exam. The man _fondled_ him when he did it, touching his cock and pushing his fingers in and out of John's body in what he thought was a very unprofessional way. John would have found another doctor but his mother swore by this one and since she was the one footing the medical bill…

"So it was." The doctor replied calmly, thumbing through his chart. "But we want to make sure you're healthy and everything's ok before we let you start on new suppressants. Don't we? Now. I'll leave you alone so you can change into your gown and we'll get the exam over with."

John grit his teeth during the exam, nails making half-moon indentations in his palms, and swore he'd never come to this man again. When it was over, though, he started on new suppressants, hopeful these would work and would be worth the embarrassment he'd gone through.

They weren't.

They never were.

* * *

"You could share your heat with me." His uni roommate, Alec, suggested one evening after they'd both been drinking in their dorm, John moaning about his latest failed suppressants and Alec moaning about his ex. "It wouldn't have to mean anything. We could just…help each other out. Yeah?"

"You think?" John didn't give the idea much credit, taking another swig of his beer. Frankly, he didn't want to have sex with an Alpha, even one as nice as Alec. He didn't think he'd enjoy being fucked by an Alpha, being _taken_, no matter what his biology demanded.

"Yeah, we could." Alec said, sitting up and pinning John with an excited look. "You want to stop taking suppressants and not do a heat alone. I want a little fun, something to take my mind off sodding Gerald. It wouldn't have to mean anything, John. Just…two friends, having a bit of fun, helping each other out. Be what we both need."

"I dunno…" John shrugged, not wanting to hurt Alec's feelings- for an Alpha he was a good guy- and Alec clapped him on the shoulder.

"Just think about it, yeah? I'm for another. You?"

* * *

When yet another brand of heat suppressants failed- his last chance- John started giving Alec's suggestion more thought. He wasn't a stranger to the idea of random hook-ups, that's what his relationships usually consisted of, and having one with Alec wasn't what gave him pause. He'd dated a few men before, had sex with them, and he liked it. That wasn't what bothered him. It was the heat-fueled sex they'd be having, Alec and his knot and John and his…his _wetness_ and his _need_.

But he didn't want to take suppressants anymore.

And Alec was a great guy. He'd never made John feel like he was less of a person, that just because Alec had been born with a knot he thought he was better than John.

So…John decided to try.

It turned out sharing his heat with Alec wasn't as awkward as John thought it would be. It was his first time having sex with an Alpha and, while he knew what to expect, reading about it versus actually doing it was vastly different.

John expected to absolutely hate it.

It turned out to feel bloody amazing.

Alec was nice and not like the pushy, full-of-themselves Alphas John was used to. More importantly, he knew what he was doing. They fucked, hard and fast, just like John needed, and at the end, Alec's knot was there, stretching John, filling him up. It was what he'd needed during his first heat and because of it this, the second heat he'd experienced, was so, so much easier. He and Alec watched telly in-between rounds, John slept, Alec studied for an upcoming exam, and they ordered takeaway from the pizza place near their campus. When John's heat was over, Alec even volunteered to help do the laundry and wash their heavily soiled sheets.

John vowed to never take suppressants again.

* * *

"You're researching suppressants."

John looked up from his newspaper. Sherlock stood beside his chair, John's laptop open in his hands, forehead creased in a frown as he stared down at his flatmate.

"Don't see how that's any of your business." John turned back to his newspaper, pointedly ruffling the pages. "And put my computer back where you found it. Use your own."

"Mine's downstairs. Why are you researching suppressants?"

John gave Sherlock an incredulous look and Sherlock relented, rolling his eyes.

"What I mean is…you've never taken suppressants before. Why now?"

"I've taken suppressants before."

"You took them in the _army_ where they were standard issue for Omegas. As soon as you were discharged you quit taking them." Sherlock cocked his head to the side. "I've heard you mention them on more than one occasion with disgust. Even hatred. I assumed that meant you disapproved of them."

"Of course I don't disapprove of them. I'm a doctor. I prescribe them to my patients on a regular basis."

"Then why-?"

John sighed, aggravated, and agitatedly folded up his newspaper, slapping it down on the side table, realizing he wasn't going to get any reading done. "Because after what happened last time I'm fed up and I've decided to give them another go. Is that ok with you?"

Sherlock brushed aside John's sarcasm. "Why have you never tried them before?"

"You do realize this is none of your business."

"Yes."

"And that this is a huge invasion of my privacy."

"Yes."

"And that the very fact you've brought this up makes me want to chin you."

"I thought as much."

"Why do you even want to know, Sherlock?" John asked, tilting his chin up so he could look at his flatmate better. "You do realize this is something very private? That I wouldn't be sharing this anyone? Much less _you_?"

Sherlock's face immediately closed off and he paced away from John, depositing his laptop on the table. "Forgive the intrusion." He muttered, flinging himself down on the sofa and closing his eyes. "It was well meant."

John sighed, scrubbing at his eyes. "It's just a very private thing, Sherlock. It's nothing…personal."

Sherlock remained impassive, hands pressed together beneath his chin, and John felt a stab of regret. He realized he'd hurt Sherlock's feelings but honestly. What else had the man expected? Asking John questions like that, probing into his private life?

Then again, John thought, staring across the room at his flatmate, his best friend, if he was going to tell anyone else about this sort of thing…that person would be Sherlock. There already wasn't much he could hide from the genius and maybe…well, maybe Sherlock had meant well.

"I used to take suppressants before I joined the army, when I was a lot younger." John said and even though Sherlock's eyes were still closed, he could tell the other man was listening. "And they were good. They did what they were supposed to do which was suppress my estrus." John's eyes dropped and he shifted. "But they also…suppressed a lot of other stuff too. My sexuality. My hormones. They…fucked it all up and nothing was right."

Sherlock's eyes opened. "That explains it. I…hadn't thought of it. That's a very rare condition for Omegas to have. Or so I've been told."

"You've known someone else like this?"

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. "Unimportant."

"Right. Anyway, I tried a lot of different ones, whatever was available, but eventually I had to accept that none of them were going to work for me. So when I was in uni, I started…sharing my heats with my Alpha friends." John had never cared before but saying it out loud, to Sherlock, the admission made him feel slutty. He wondered if Sherlock thought less of him for it and immediately dismissed the idea. It was his life and he could do whatever the fuck he wanted with it.

"And now you want to try suppressants again." It wasn't a question.

"There's a few new suppressants on the market. Thought I might give them a go. Worth a shot at any rate." He smiled but Sherlock continued to stare solemnly at him.

"You do realize the chances of finding a suppressant that doesn't have the same side-effects are-"

"Yes." John snapped. "I know they're remote…. Just. Yes. I know." He forced a smile. "Thanks."

It was silent for a few minutes, uncomfortable and laden with questions unasked, before Sherlock finally opened his mouth.

"What will you do if the new suppressants don't work?"

John picked up his newspaper, fiddling with it. "I guess I'll figure that out when it happens."

"You don't want to share your heats with Alphas anymore."

John shook his head.

"Why did you in the first place?" Sherlock asked curiously. "I was under the assumption that most Omegas used…toys to…make it through their heats."

John watched a deep blush work its way through Sherlock's neck and stain his cheeks and Sherlock had suddenly found something very fascinating on the ceiling to stare at instead of John. A smile tugged at the corner of John's lips at the display and something hot swooped in his chest.

"Toys aren't really very effective. I've used a few in the past, of course." He said, purely to see what sort of reaction he could elicit from Sherlock. "But in my experience, I respond better when I'm with an Alpha."

Sherlock's throat bobbed as he swallowed, lips parting on a shuddering sigh, and John abruptly realized he was gripping the arms of his chair, his cock twitching in his pants as he stared at Sherlock. _Jesus_.

Dream on, John, dream on, he scolded himself, forcing his hands to relax and steering his mind away from any lewd thoughts. As if _Sherlock Holmes_ would ever be interested in _you_.

"Right." John cleared his throat and stood, striding to the kitchen. "Right, if that's enough of you prying, I'm making some tea. Want some?"

"Yes, please, John." Sherlock rolled onto his side, burying his head in the cushions, and that was the last time he spoke the rest of the night.

* * *

Sherlock had always wondered why John didn't take suppressants. Why John, who seemed to hate the fact he was an Omega, subjected himself to a heat every three months, having sex with Alphas. It went against everything Sherlock knew about him. Of course, that was before John told him using toys wasn't as effective as being with an Alpha (and that admission had provoked stunning, gorgeous images in Sherlock's mind of John using a toy, working it inside him…which had soured as soon as his mind leaped ahead, visualizing John being fucked into the bed by a domineering Alpha).

The fact that the suppressants didn't work for John came as no surprise. It made sense.

Unfortunately, the new suppressants weren't working either.

The first thing to change was John's scent.

Sherlock hadn't realized before just how much John's natural scent permeated the flat, how much he'd come to rely on it spicing every breath he took…until it changed.

Before taking the new suppressants, John smelled like warm grass. Hot sand. Mint. Gun oil. Fresh brewed tea. Comforting smells which always instantly made Sherlock feel better whenever he caught a whiff of them. They were mouthwatering.

When John started taking the suppressants, he smelled chemical. Like freshly opened vitamins. Bitter. Medicinal.

It was gag inducing.

The change started slowly but by the end of the third week, Sherlock started keeping the flat windows open more often. He took to standing downwind from John when they went to crime scenes together and almost couldn't keep his face from twisting up in disgust every time John came near him.

John smelled wrong. Unnatural. He didn't smell like _John_ and Sherlock missed his scent. Desperately.

There were other signs the suppressants were having an adverse effect on John:

John clenched his jaw three times more often than usual.

His shoulders were tense.

He avoided going on dates with Beta women- as he was wont to do between times during his heats.

The smallest things made him frustrated.

He snapped at Sherlock on a regular basis and his apologies were terse and still sounded angry.

Sherlock pretended not to notice, didn't draw attention to any of these new developments. He knew if he did, John would either deny them or get angry at him for pointing them out. So Sherlock stayed silent, and ached for John in secret.

* * *

The suppressants weren't working.

Or well, the suppressants were _working_- John hadn't had a heat the entire time he was taking them. His normal time had come and gone and not a smidgen of his usual estrus symptoms materialized.

So yes, the suppressants were working. Just not in the way John wanted.

As warm water from the shower pounded down on his back, he stared at his flaccid cock which remained, no matter what he did, frustratingly soft. It lay in his nest of blonde curls, limp and uninspiring. John knew it was his imagination but it even looked smaller. Not that it was very large anyway- he was an Omega after all- but when it was hard John was rather proud of it. It'd always been enough to satisfy any Beta woman he was dating.

He sighed, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see his penis anymore, and ducked his head under the water. He didn't even _want_ to masturbate. He hadn't wanted to in weeks. It was more that he felt like he _should_ because he'd always wanted to before.

I'd be happy with these suppressants…if I never wanted to have sex again for the rest of my life, John thought sardonically, turning off the shower and stepping out. He wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out his bottle of suppressants. He turned them over in his hands, debating but knowing already what he was going to do.

He flushed the rest of the suppressants down the toilet, watching the blue pills swirl around and around and then disappear out of sight, feeling the weight of failure.

* * *

**I'm in the process of writing a sequel to _A Jumbled Mess,_ which will deal with mpreg. It will detail John's pregnancy. I have a few ideas for the story, but would love to hear from you as to what you would like to see in the story. I've never had a baby before so any and all true experience stories and funny anecdotes about pregnancy would be helpful as well. Remember: the more you help me, the better I'll write! Thanks in advance!**

**Hope you're enjoying the story! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

Rain spattered against the windows of the flat, cocooning the two men inside in a hushed quiet, broken only occasionally by the rumble of thunder from outside. John kept one eye on the telly as he checked his e-mail, sighing in consternation when he saw the messages waiting for him. Sherlock, sat at the table bent over his Bunsen burner, was oblivious not only to John, the trivialities of unpleasant e-mails, and the storm outside, but also to his mobile vibrating noisily beside him and the three unanswered messages flashing across his screen. Nothing was of any interest to him at the moment and the entire world was hopelessly _dull_.

John scowled as he read an upbeat e-mail from one of the soldiers he'd formerly served with, Tyler Shaw, detailing the impending birth of his new child, how crazy his bondmate was making him feel, how good it was to hear from John, what was he doing with himself in London-

John deleted the e-mail…then immediately felt bad for being so petty and went into his Trash folder to retrieve it. It wasn't Tyler's fault he was bonded and an expectant father. It wasn't Tyler's fault John's suppressants hadn't worked and now he was scrambling to find an Alpha before his next heat. It wasn't Tyler's fault…but John wanted to blame someone other than himself. It just seemed fair, in a way.

Fair and unreasonable, he scolded himself, vowing to reply to Tyler's e-mail later and opening the next one, a brief message from an old boyfriend which, in response to John's friendly message from earlier, was succinct and to the point.

"Fuck off and I never want to hear from you again."

"Fuck off to you too, mate." John muttered, deleting the message and feeling a prickle of embarrassment he'd even tried contacting the man. Things had ended badly between them anyway. It wasn't something he'd wanted to revisit but…his options were running low.

He massaged his head, trying to calm the headache starting a pounding tempo behind his eyes, and opened the last e-mail from a potential Alpha.

Nada. Nothing. Zip. Zilch.

Fantastic.

John snapped his laptop closed and set it aside, staring blindly across the room to the rain slicked window, trying to come up with a plan. He needed an Alpha. He wasn't going to go through another heat alone. His last had been bad enough. It could have been worse- a lot worse- and it was with that horrible knowledge in mind that he was trawling through his list of contacts, searching for someone to share his heat with.

So far, he'd come up with no one.

He hadn't kept in touch with a lot of his old army mates, saving a few- and those few were almost all bonded with kids. Or with kids on the way. Michael had been a friend of a friend John had been introduced to by chance a few months ago. He'd remembered him from Afghanistan, vaguely, but hadn't been around him all that much when they were serving. They'd been nodding acquaintances but from what John had picked up, the man seemed decent enough. People changed, he supposed. He liked to think he would have noticed if Michael had shown signs of being a possessive arse _before_ he offered to share his heat with him.

The idea of going to a pub and picking someone up held significantly less appeal to John than it had when he'd been in his 20s.

Of course, there was still…

John glanced from the corner of his eyes to where Sherlock was setting cotton swabs on fire before dousing them in an unidentified green substance.

Sherlock was an Alpha.

And also a major prick. John grinned fondly, focusing his eyes on the telly so Sherlock wouldn't think he was a complete nutter. Most Alpha's were pricks. Couldn't help it. Just seemed to be in their nature and Sherlock was as much a typical Alpha as John had ever seen. Rude and condescending. Didn't care to lie to get his way. Liked being praised. Vain. Flaunted his brilliance… But he was also a conundrum. He never made John feel less of a person because he was Omega. Sought his opinions on cases. Made him feel useful. Genuinely wanted to help. Showed signs of compassion and love that always managed to surprise John. He was reserved and quiet. Rather…innocent. Surprisingly so.

It wouldn't be so bad, sharing his heat with Sherlock. The idea made John's heart clench and he took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He wanted it. More than he was willing to admit- seeing the usually calm, unflappable man falling into rut. Nude and hard. Tangling them in the sheets as they rolled together. Moaning. Wanting John- even if it were just because he was in heat.

John had thought about it before. Of course he had. From the first moment at Bart's when he'd realized the man he'd be sharing a flat with was not only gorgeous but Alpha…John had been intrigued.

He still remembered the turn-down Sherlock had given him that first night and, while it still rather smarted, the memory sobered him. Reminded him of exactly _who_ he was thinking about.

Sherlock wasn't interested in those sorts of things.

He didn't want John, heat or no heat.

Dream on, Watson.

So, it was back to square one.

John waited until there was a commercial on for his program on the telly before standing with a groan and ducking into the kitchen to make a quick cup of tea, glancing dubiously at what Sherlock was doing at the table which now involved attempting to relight the soaked cotton swabs.

"Sherlock? Cup of tea?"

There was no answer- of course- and John quickly clicked on the kettle to warm up before making to weave around Sherlock for a mug- when the other man suddenly grabbed him, spinning him around forcefully.

"Sherlock!" John yelped, when Sherlock pulled him closer and inexplicably pressed his face against the front of John's shirt. "What're you-?"

John froze in shock when Sherlock took a deep inhale, closing his eyes and running his nose from the center of John's chest down to his navel.

Sherlock was scenting him.

* * *

After weeks and weeks without John's scent, of _starving_ for it, of catching it clinging to fibers of random articles of John's clothing and sniffing at them as if he were a dog, Sherlock hadn't been prepared for John to walk into the kitchen suddenly smelling…like himself.

Like John.

As it was, John's scent hit Sherlock's face like a wave, washing over him and pulling him under, sweeping him away.

He turned toward his friend before even consciously making the decision to do so, grabbing him and tugging him closer. Heart racing, Sherlock chased the wonderful scent to its source, pressing his nose against John's body and inhaling the rich, musky, _glorious_ smell. John's shirt scratched against his face as he breathed deeper, closing his eyes to savor the scent he'd missed and mourned over like a dearly departed loved one.

"Sh- Sherlock?"

John's voice, soft and hesitant and wholly incredulous, broke into Sherlock's scent-induced bliss, shattering it, making him aware of where he was and what he was doing. Horrified, he opened his eyes to find John staring down at him, holding himself rigid while Sherlock literally rubbed his cheek against John's shirt.

He jerked away from John, cheeks heating up, shame twisting sickeningly in his gut, and turned back to his experiment, sliding his lap under the table to hide how John's scent had affected him. He had never been so ashamed of himself, his lack of control, in all his life.

John was still standing behind him, surprised, obviously trying to put the pieces together to explain Sherlock's behavior and Sherlock wished he'd go back into the sitting room and watch whatever inane show he'd been enjoying and forget this had ever happened.

"Sherlock. Did you just…scent me?"

Sherlock fiddled with his instruments, pretending to be absorbed and aloof while his heart pounded in his chest and even being exposed by John wasn't enough to completely kill his erection. Every breath he took was flavored with John and his cock pulsed in time to his breaths. "You've stopped taking your suppressants."

"Yes." John replied slowly, confused. "I have. About a week ago, actually. Knew it was a long shot but…"

"You had to try."

"Mm."

"So who will you ask?" Deflection and distraction.

"I'm sorry?"

Sherlock wished John would move further away from him. Being in such close proximity was doing nothing except distracting him in, what he feared, was a rather obvious way. "Who will you ask to share your heat with you? That is your usual routine every three months. I assume you will pick up where you left off now you're off suppressants."

"Oh. I dunno. Not really thought about it yet."

It was a lie, Sherlock knew. If John had known his suppressants were failing, he would have already been thinking of who he would ask to assist him through his next heat before he made the decision to stop taking them. John was efficient like that. He wouldn't leave anything that important to chance.

"Gavin?" Sherlock offered, relaxing when John finally, thankfully, moved away from him and switched off the kettle, going through the mundane movements of making tea.

"Who?"

"Gavin Lestrade. He's an Alpha." One of the few you haven't slept with.

"Lestrade?" John asked incredulously. "No. Wasn't planning on asking him. Be a bit awkward, since we work together. Besides, not sure he's in to _male_ Omegas."

Sherlock cleaned up his experiment while John finished making their tea, taking subtle breaths through his mouth so he wouldn't smell John's scent and embarrass himself further. The two men sat in silence for a while, drinking tea and listening to the storm outside rage. On the surface, it appeared very tranquil and domestic, but Sherlock felt anything but relaxed, was practically vibrating with tension. An idea had formed in his mind weeks ago but he'd dismissed it almost immediately. It was ridiculous. Outrageous. Selfish and self-serving. Sentimental. John would never agree.

But now, with John sitting across from him, looking worried, knowing it was in his power to potentially help him while at the same time gaining what he so desperately wanted…Sherlock couldn't keep silent.

"I would be…amenable. To help. If you want."

John choked on his tea.

Sherlock impassively watched him cough and splutter, eyes watering and face going very red as he stared across the table at Sherlock as if he'd never seen him properly before. Sherlock thought it was a bit rude of John, honestly. He was trying to help him, after all.

When John finally got his breath back, he managed to wheeze a very incredulous. "_What_?"

"I said I would be amenable to help you. If that's what you want. But I can see it isn't since I've so obviously shocked you." Sherlock finished stiffly as John wiped off a dribble of tea from his chin and coughed a bit more.

John laboriously cleared his throat. "Well, you did surprise me. No fucking doubt about that. I just, well, I wouldn't have thought you'd volunteer. This sort of thing seems really…not your area."

_You_ are my area. "Perhaps I've changed my mind." Sherlock replied flippantly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "After all, it makes perfect sense. I'm an Alpha. You're an Omega, one who is currently needing an Alpha. Why would you rather seek out some unfamiliar Alpha who could end up like last time when you could share your heat with me? Simple."

John looked at Sherlock as if he'd gone crazy, as if the idea itself were wholly ridiculous. Something inside Sherlock withered.

"Never mind." He snapped, pushing away from the table and turning his back to John, chest feeling hollow. He'd ruined their friendship. It couldn't recover from this. Ever. John was already prickly enough about being an Omega and now Sherlock had gone and _pointed out to him_ that he needed an Alpha. And then volunteered himself to be that Alpha. Their friendship was over. Even if Sherlock asked John to forget it, some things were too hard to ignore. John would be gone by the end of the week, Sherlock was sure of it.

"We're friends, Sherlock." John explained slowly. "And friends don't-"

"You've shared your heats with your other Alpha friends." Sherlock pointed out, not caring if he were being cruel. He'd already ruined things anyway. May as well make a clean sweep of it. "Multiple times, as I recall. You treat your heats almost as if they're an initiation to become friends with you. You've had no problem with it before." Sherlock stopped himself, knowing he sounded petty and jealous, as if he were begging. "If you would rather not share your heat with me, John, you need only say so. You don't have to create flimsy excuses. It was only a suggestion."

"First off, my private life is none of your damn business. And second-" John stood up and strode around the table to Sherlock, spinning him around and glaring up at him. "I've shared my heats with my friends before but…they weren't my _best_ friends."

John was looking up at him as if he expected Sherlock to understand something significant. He frowned, trying to work it out and John huffed.

"What I mean is…they weren't people I particularly liked-"

"You don't like your own friends?"

"No, that's…._Sherlock_." John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in consternation. "What I mean is that they were just friends. We hung out and did those sorts of things…but I wasn't as close to them as I am to you. And I didn't live with them. So when things didn't work out, I could just leave. Stop returning their calls. If things don't work out with us…" John shrugged, dropping his hand from Sherlock's arm. "It's a lot more complicated."

Sherlock nodded. He could see what John meant, the words he was leaving unsaid, and he could understand why it was prudent to not engage in sexual relations together. John smiled at him, looking a bit sad, moving further away, and Sherlock heard himself blurting out-

"I'm still up for it if you are."

John froze, eyes wide, and Sherlock rambled on, trying to fill the silence, unable to stop himself.

"Despite the complications that could potentially arise, I still believe I would be capable of assisting you through your heat. We're already highly compatible together. If we go into the situation with our eyes metaphorically open, knowing what to expect from each other, the potential problems would be reduced to nothing. So long as we don't delude one another or have higher expectations from the encounter than what is to be expected. It's really a very simple situation, John."

"You do know what we're talking about, right, Sherlock?"

"Yes, of course." Sherlock replied. He wouldn't have made the offer if he didn't know what he was volunteering for.

"When I say 'share my heat' I'm using that term euphemistically. We won't be sitting on my bed together, braiding your hair, doing our nails, and talking about the men down at Scotland Yard."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John-"

"You'll be _fucking_ me, Sherlock. Having sexual intercourse. Your cock and knot in my _arse_. Repeatedly. I'll be in heat which means my hormones will be through the goddamn roof. My scent will be so strong you'll be drunk with it. A slave to it. You'll have to stay with me, in my room, in the flat, for the entire 3 days. I'll want sex at least every three or four hours. Sex with _you_. There'll be no you getting bored and wandering away. There'll be no answering calls and going to look at a crime scene. There'll just be you. And me. Having rough, sweaty, exhausting sex. Over and over until I'm satisfied."

Sherlock gasped when his knees buckled, spilling him into the nearest chair suddenly and without warning. He stared up at John in amazement, heart pounding in his chest and breathing ragged at the picture John had painted.

"You have an erection."

Sherlock followed John's gaze down to where his cock was trapped by his trousers. It pressed against the thin fabric, looking obscene and vaguely comical.

"So I do."

John snorted- then began giggling. He clapped a hand over his mouth but from his amused, twinkling eyes, to his flushed cheeks and shaking shoulders, Sherlock had no trouble determining that he was laughing. His eyes narrowed as he watched John laugh, wondering if he were laughing at his reaction or if it was a less-than-impressive display.

"I'm sorry. God…I'm really sorry, Sherlock." John managed to choke out, trying to get himself back under control. "That was uncalled for, I just…wow. I wasn't expecting _that_ reaction from what I said."

"What were you expecting?" Sherlock asked curiously, tilting his head to the side.

"I dunno." John shrugged. "You to be disgusted? To tell me to move out. Run screaming from the room." John made an obvious effort to keep looking at Sherlock's face but his eyes kept inexorably sliding back down to his lap.

You really don't know me all that well, John, if you thought that would be my reaction, Sherlock thought a bit hysterically. John's eyes flicked to his crotch again and Sherlock was torn between wanting to cover himself and flexing his cock to show it to better advantage.

He frowned. Where had that thought come from?

"Well. I think we can ascertain none of those things will be happening." He quipped, and John chuckled, dragging his eyes away from Sherlock's groin and moving around the table to sit opposite Sherlock again.

"Ok. Think we're getting a bit off track here. _Were_ you serious? About what you said? Your…offer?"

"Yes."

"Yes." John echoed, shaking his head. "Christ, Sherlock, you can't just…Have you ever been with an Omega?"

"No."

"Been with _anyone_?"

"No."

"Right. So you've never…you don't have any experience with…?"

"With?"

"Any of this. Sex. Heats."

"Not as such." Sherlock confirmed. "Problem?"

John snorted, disbelieving, and Sherlock's scowl deepened.

"Sherlock…if you've never experienced sex before you don't know what you're even getting in to. A heat's a lot different from regular sex."

"I've done enough research-"

"Hope it's not been the porn again."

"- to know what to expect during an Omega's heat. Your hormones, as you mentioned, will be elevated. Your scent will change. There will be copious amounts of sex taking place. I'm sure I'll be able to handle it." Sherlock sniffed, rather put out that John thought he was incapable. He wasn't a child.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to lose your virginity during a heat."

Sherlock grimaced. He hated that word and particularly hated that word used in relation to himself. "Didn't you?"

"No. I didn't have sex during a heat until I was almost 20. But even then I knew what to expect from it."

"I know what to expect from it."

"No, you really don't. And losing your virginity-"

"Oh, _please_, John." Sherlock burst out angrily. "I'm 34 years old. Talking about me 'losing my virginity' makes me sound as if I'm 13. So I've never had sex before. I might be starting a bit late but that doesn't make me ignorant or not responsible for my own actions. In all honesty, having sex for the first time _now_ is even more ideal. I'm not being pressured in to it, I'm more mature, and if you must refer to it as my 'losing my virginity' at least I'm doing it with…"

"With?"

"With…with someone who cares about me. With a friend."

John beamed at him, a slow, pleased smile spreading across his face and Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief.

"I still don't know about this." John admitted and Sherlock remained silent, knowing John would need a bit of time and space to think things through. John was like that. "You're sure this is something you want to do?"

Absolutely. "Yes."

John nodded, still smiling as if he couldn't believe it, before sobering. "All right. What exactly are you expecting from…from all this?"

"Helping you with your heat." Sherlock said cautiously, mulling over his words, hoping he was saying it right and not revealing anything else. He didn't want to scare John off.

"That's it?"

Sherlock hesitated and John unconsciously leaned forward, tense. "What else…would I expect?"

"Nothing. It was just a question." John forced a smile and sat back in his chair. "Just so you're aware- it wouldn't have to change anything between us. We could do that and still be friends. I'm not…expecting anything from you either."

Of course not. Sherlock hadn't expected him to. Why would John want anything from him?

"I still want to think about this for a while. It's a while before my next heat so… Do you mind?"

"Of course not." Take as much time as you need.

* * *

He was going to say yes. John knew he was going to say yes even while he pretended to take an entire week to think it over. He didn't know why he was torturing both himself and Sherlock over his answer.

He knew he was going to say yes.

He _wanted_ to say yes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually wanted someone so much as Sherlock. And honestly, when had he ever stopped wanting Sherlock? He'd started when they first met and now, months later, he was still pathetically infatuated with his best friend.

He was going to say yes.

He was going to share his heat with him, being fucked for days and pleasuring Sherlock and that…that was fantastic.

If it hadn't been for the bloody suppressants still in his system, John would have been constantly wanking over the idea of his upcoming heat with Sherlock. He was surprised that he was actually looking forward to his heat- a never-heard-of occurrence.

When he finally worked up the nerve to tell Sherlock that yes, he'd let him share his heat, the consulting detective looked worried instead of elated.

And John briefly wondered if he'd made a mistake.

* * *

"You're concerned." Sherlock steepled his fingers beneath his chin and stared at John who was shifting from foot to foot, looking anxious after making his pronouncement. Sherlock had been expecting him to say yes. He didn't know why John had waited a whole week before telling him.

"Just don't know if this will work out."

"If you're still so concerned, perhaps we should try it out first. A test run, if you will." That was the only logical step, Sherlock argued with himself. His suggestion had nothing to do with him wanting to have sex with John early, before his heat, because it was something Sherlock couldn't stop envisioning…and he was becoming increasingly frustrated because he _couldn't_ imagine it. He needed to know what sex with John was like.

John flushed and looked away. "I'm not…I mean, I've stopped taking my suppressants but they're still…in my system. So, I can't…" He gestured aimlessly and Sherlock waited for him to elaborate, not catching his meaning, eyes flicking over John's body, trying to read the signals and determine-

Oh. Oh, right. Of course. John couldn't have sex because of the suppressants. Stupid. Idiot. He should have realized that before opening his bloody mouth.

Sherlock didn't know what to say. Apologizing would make the situation worse. Saying nothing would emphasize that he was aware of John's temporary impotence. Changing the subject would underscore the fact. He was close to panicking, mind firing at a rapid pace, trying to find a way to fix what he'd caused-

"But if you want a demonstration…" John grinned, coy and self-assured, and Sherlock's heart skipped a beat as John strolled over to the sofa and leaned over Sherlock, bracing his hand on the back of the sofa. His scent hit Sherlock in the face and he inhaled shakily, trying not to be too overt, wanting to bury his face in John's neck and inhale. He doubted John would allow him to, though, and it would probably be rude. John smirked, obviously noticing Sherlock's desire but choosing not to say anything, and lowered his head to Sherlock's face.

The kiss was brief. The merest press of dry, soft lips against Sherlock's own before John pulled back, gauging his reaction. Sherlock wasn't sure what his reaction was.

He was still trying to figure that out as John retreated to the kitchen to ostensibly make tea.

* * *

"You should, um…tell Greg you won't be able to take any cases for a couple of days." John said awkwardly while they were at Bart's, a few weeks before his heat. "You know. During."

"Your usual estrus lasts approximately three days."

"Um. Yeah. _Usually_. But…you might not want to tell him the exact number of days. He's…well, he's likely to put it together. Why you're taking the time off. He's not as dense as you like to think he is."

Sherlock pushed away from his microscope to give John his full attention. "And that would be a problem?"

"Um." John cleared his throat, gave Sherlock a shifty smile. "Well. We might want to just keep this a secret. Between us. That you're sharing my heat with me."

"Everyone already thinks I share your heats with you."

"Yes, but they don't…look, just tell Greg. Ok? Or better yet, I'll do it."

* * *

The suspense was killing him.

Sherlock was counting down the days in his head until John's heat but it seemed time had slowed down to a snail's pace, hardly moving. It dragged by and there was nothing he could do about it. He was constantly worried that John would change his mind. That he would realize letting Sherlock take care of him was a colossally bad idea. That another Alpha would come and John would prefer to be with them instead. As he always had done.

Sherlock couldn't take much more of the interminable _waiting_.

He spent his time trying to work cases while fretting over the upcoming event with a frenetic energy. He finally gave up work and took to reading as much as he could about Omegas, the history of their fight for equality, how they mated, how a bond worked, mating rituals, hormonal changes, estrus irregularities.

And researching heat sex. Lots and lots of heat sex tips.

Sherlock had felt sick reading them. What John had tried to explain to him the day he'd offered to help with his heat was making startlingly sense the more and more he read. He wasn't ready for this. He was ill-prepared. He wouldn't be able to satisfy John. What had he been thinking?

It was with relief that John approached him on the day before his heat. Sherlock had been afraid he'd have a nervous breakdown if he had to wait any longer. As it was, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to perform or his knot wouldn't expand as it should- he'd never been with an Omega so how should he know- and what would happen if that occurred-

"It's going to be tomorrow."

Sherlock was glad he was seated. The sudden rush of blood that pooled between his legs would probably have been upsetting to John. He didn't want him to think he was overexcited and wouldn't be able to satisfy him tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.

Sherlock suddenly wished he'd never told John he would help him. He was in over his head and sinking fast.

This had been a bad idea.

It was too late to back out now, though.

"And um…So. I just thought I'd let you know."

Sherlock nodded. Didn't trust himself to speak.

"You will be here, right? In the morning?" John suddenly asked, looking worried. "I mean…you're not going to get distracted and…I dunno. Leave? Or get really involved in an experiment? Or go to Bart's for some quick research and then forget?"

"Of course not." How could I ever forget?

"Ok. Good." John told Sherlock good night and climbed the stairs to his room. Sherlock listened to his fading footsteps and the sound of his bedroom door closing, knowing he wouldn't be getting any sleep that night.


	6. Chapter 6

John woke the next morning on fire. His skin was sensitive and felt stretched, drawn out and too small for his frame. He gasped, shoving his heavy covers off and tensed at the flow of cool air over his sweaty skin. Even that small waft of air was too much, made his skin prickle uncomfortably, hairs standing at attention, shivers working their way over his body. He bit his lip, grimacing, writhing anxiously.

His cock was hard between his thighs, twitching in time with his heartbeat and John moaned, stroking it before he could stop himself. It'd been so long since he'd been able to do that- since he'd been hard period- that he couldn't help indulging himself. The resulting pleasure was like liquid fire being forced through his veins, seizing his muscles and reducing him to base grunts of pure animal need as he rocked his hips up into his hand. Arousal was a heavy, throbbing weight in his groin, a live, coiling thing that roiled and clamored for attention.

It wasn't the all-consuming lust he could expect during his heat. Insistent and blistering and vaguely horrible. Not yet.

John knew it wasn't far off, though.

He forcibly dragged his hand away from his cock, groaning in protest even as he did so. He knew if he kept touching himself, teasing and fondling, he'd only make things worse. He wouldn't be able to appease his body's needs that way. It would be a study in frustration.

He swallowed thickly, his throat clogged in mounting arousal, and thought about calling for Sherlock. He glanced at the closed bedroom door, wondering if the detective was still in the flat…or if he'd left. Got distracted. Decided this wasn't what he wanted and bolted.

No. Please god, no.

John's stomach twisted itself into knots at the idea of Sherlock being gone- for more than one reason: he didn't want to have to suffer through another heat alone…but he had also been looking forward to sharing his heat with Sherlock. Rather a lot, actually.

John had, at random moments over the past few weeks, experienced the sudden, bizarre realization that he would be spending his upcoming heat with Sherlock. _Sherlock Holmes_. That he and Sherlock were going to be having sex. Quite a lot of it. He would be taking the virginal detective to bed and repeatedly having his way with him.

John couldn't imagine it.

Of course, that hadn't stopped him from spending many sleepless nights _trying_ to imagine it: the usually aloof man falling into rut over him, fucking him, eyes glazed and lust-filled, large hands splayed over John's body as they moved into position, gasping and moaning, mouth open and panting, the way he'd sound when he came…

John licked suddenly dry lips, heart thrumming, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His arse rubbed against the mattress, buttocks sliding wetly together, and he took a deep breath, feeling the ooze of wetness smearing against his skin. He still had a little while before things _really_ got started, John thought, scrubbing a hand over his face and staring at his bedroom door.

First, though, he had to make sure Sherlock was there, was still amenable to helping him with his heat.

Then he'd make them breakfast. They both needed to have a good meal before they started…expending all their energies.

John's soft, cotton dressing gown felt like steel wool scratching against his sensitive skin as he shrugged it on but John dealt with it, determined. He was damned if he were going downstairs half-dressed, looking like an Omega whore, dripping and begging for cock. He was in heat. That didn't mean he couldn't be decent.

* * *

Sherlock hovered at the foot of the stairs, listening for any sound from above to indicate John was awake yet.

He'd been crouched there for hours, sitting on the bottom step until his arse had gone numb from prolonged contact with the hard wood and pins and needles were stabbing at his legs from keeping them folded underneath him. He remained where he was, though, eyes trained on the door upstairs, waiting.

This was going to be a disaster.

Sherlock had spent the night conjuring up every scenario that could feasibly take place during John's heat, running through each one until it reached its inevitable end. Usually, he ended up botching their copulation: failing to become aroused, coming too soon, his knot not inflating properly, or entirely failing to satisfy John.

It was also entirely possible that John would be put off by his scent. John had never scented Sherlock before and, Sherlock realized, horrified, maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe John didn't like the way he smelled. Sherlock had frantically showered, scrubbing at his body until his skin was bright pink and smarting, and changed his clothes, hoping to cover up any offensive odors John wouldn't like.

He felt pathetically inadequate. Ready for failure. Something would go wrong, he was sure of it.

But despite his anxiety and borderline panic, Sherlock had been hard most of the night. His penis knew what would be taking place later and was more than ready to begin. It was very uncomfortable, Sherlock thought, shifting on the bottom step, his erection lazily bobbing in his trousers. He was afraid to touch himself, knowing he had to be ready for John when he needed him- whenever that was.

Sherlock, heart in his throat, nerves making him sick and dizzy, hoped it would be soon. He didn't think he could wait much longer without going insane.

At the sound of a barely concealed moan from upstairs, Sherlock's head jerked up. He stared at John's bedroom door with scared eyes. It was time.

John was awake.

He was in heat.

Any second he'd be coming downstairs and they would..._copulate_.

Sherlock belatedly realized he hadn't been breathing and took a deep gasp of air.

John's footsteps sounded upstairs. Floorboards creaking as he made his way across the room. The door opening-

Sherlock scrambled up and flailed his way, on stiff legs, to the sofa. He threw himself down on it, flopping around and tried to look as if he'd been there the whole time. He placed a pillow innocuously over his crotch, hoping to conceal his erection which the panic of John's coming downstairs had failed to quell. Stubborn thing. Sherlock spared a brief glare at it.

John, when he arrived, was still in his pajamas, looking flushed, his hair mussed, and he stared at Sherlock across the sitting room with something akin to relief.

"You're still here."

"I said I would be." Sherlock was thankful his voice sounded indifferent, belying the turmoil inside. His cock jerked at the sound of John's voice and he mashed at the pillow in reprimand.

John nodded, shifting on his feet. "Right. Good." He cleared his throat, glancing away from Sherlock, knotting his hands at his sides. It felt horribly awkward. This would be even worse than he'd envisioned. Sherlock's erection finally began to wane.

"I'll just fix us some breakfast then."

Sherlock blinked in surprise, not having expected John to want…breakfast. Not right off. What did that mean?

Was Sherlock supposed to do something? Make a 'move?' Ask John if he were ready? If he were in heat yet? Would that be offensive or was John waiting for Sherlock to ask? Was that the polite thing to do?

_Why_ hadn't he asked before today, Sherlock castigated himself, gritting his teeth in irritation. He was agitatedly trying to figure out what was expected of him….when he caught a wave of John's scent.

Sherlock's lips parted, nostrils flaring, feeling utterly dazed. He'd always loved John's scent- unique, wonderful, comforting- but now, in heat and with hormones flooding his system, John's scent had morphed. Taken on new tones. It was deeper. Richer. Tinged with more musk. Wholly captivating.

It was abruptly clear exactly what Sherlock was supposed to do: his mate was in heat. Go and mount him. Simple. Easy.

Sherlock took another deep inhale, breath hitching in a moan at how _good_ John smelled. He stood, letting the pillow fall to the floor, no longer worried about concealing his erection, and walked into the kitchen, following the trail of scent to its source.

John's back was to him as he deftly cracked eggs, making them sizzle as they dropped one-by-one into a pan. He was shifting on his feet, shoulders tense, clearly uncomfortable. Sweat dotted his hairline and- Sherlock's eyes traced lower- there was a small wet spot on the seat of his bottoms.

Sherlock couldn't drag his eyes away from it.

He didn't even ask before pressing himself against John and burying his nose into the base of John's neck, breathing deeply where his scent was the strongest. The experience was _transcendental_.

He steadied himself, hands splaying on John's pajama clad hips, breathing in as much as he could, filling his lungs until they felt as if they'd explode. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. He moaned on his hatefully necessary exhale, mourning the loss of John's scent…only to be excited that he got to breathe it in all over again, experience the high that came with it.

He opened his mouth, tongue snaking out to lick at John's skin-

John groaned, head dropping down, baring his neck further to Sherlock, knuckles going white where he was still gripping the spatula. Something inside Sherlock, generally dormant and wholly foreign, purred at the blatant act of submission- before John's head snapped up. He flicked the stove off with short, terse movements and then he was turning around. Sherlock tightened his grip on John's hips, not wanting him to turn around. Why would he want to turn around?

John, though, struggled against his hold until he was fully facing Sherlock, face dark, but instead of pushing Sherlock away, he grabbed Sherlock's head, bringing his lips down and pulling him into a kiss.

It wasn't like John's "demonstration kiss" a few weeks ago. _That_ kiss had been a tame, innocent, rather unexciting thing. It had been over and done with in less than a few seconds.

_This_ kiss was scorching. Desperate. Passionate. It made Sherlock's eyes slam closed and a deep, rumbling moan vibrated through his chest. He gripped at John, pulling him closer…but John was already pushing forward, bossily steering Sherlock until his back hit the wall with a dull _thud_. He gasped and John took the opportunity to force his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, licking over the roof of his mouth and weaving slickly around Sherlock's own tongue.

Sherlock groaned again, acting on impulse as he frotted against John in slow, undulating rolls of his hips, mindlessly pushing his penis against John. He could feel John's erection as well, hard against his hip. His breaths huffed hotly against Sherlock's cheek as he pushed into Sherlock's thrusts, hands sliding around to grab his arse and yank him closer.

It wasn't enough. Sherlock needed more.

He surged forward and lifted John onto the table, ignoring John's angry protest- "_OI_!"- before licking at his neck. He laved at his pulse point, scraped his teeth along the skin of John's neck. He could practically _feel_ the rush of blood beneath the surface, was _salivating_ at the idea of sinking his teeth into his flesh and biting down, marking John as _his_-

A brutal yank at his hair jerked Sherlock away from John's neck. John glared up at him, angry and aroused.

"No biting." He ordered. "You fucking bite me, Sherlock, and I'll throw you out of this goddamn flat and do this on my own. Do you understand me?"

Sherlock moaned, tugging at the implacable grip on his hair. He heard the words but they didn't penetrate the fog in his mind, didn't tame the urge to_ mate mate mate make him mine show everyone prove it bite bite bite- _

John slapped him and Sherlock's cheek exploded in pain, stinging. He took a deep, surprised breath as his mind suddenly cleared and he stared down, surprised and ashamed, at a very furious John Watson.

"_No. Biting_." John grated out from between clenched teeth, shaking the hand still gripped into Sherlock's hair, forcing Sherlock's head to nod along with the words. "I don't want you to bite me and if you do I won't care to throw you out on your arse." He cocked his head. "Are we clear?"

"Yes." Sherlock gasped. "I'm sorry, John, I-"

"I know it's overwhelming." John's expression softened and he loosened his grip on Sherlock's hair, smoothing it back into place, fussing over him. "I do. But that's not something I want done to me. All right?"

Sherlock nodded, swallowing heavily, each breath spiced with John's scent but doing his best not to lose himself in it again. He swayed closer to John, eyes trained on his lips, but John pushed him away. Sherlock felt the sting of rejection like a physical blow. He'd thought things had been going so well…Had he really made John so mad when he'd tried biting him? Would John leave now? Say he didn't want Sherlock after all? That he'd blown his chance?

"Come on." John slid off the table, eyes so heavily dilated there was only the barest rings of color in them. "Bedroom."

Sherlock blinked. "Bedroom? You mean…for…sex?"

It was John's turn to look surprised. "Yes, Sherlock, for sex. That is what we're…remember, we've had this discussion about what we'll be doing?"

"Yes, I know that. I just…" Sherlock frowned, staring at John, watching as a fine trembling worked its way through John's body. "Why not here?"

"Because I'm not letting you knot me on the table. We eat there."

Yes, they ate there. Regularly. Every day. Sherlock wanted to knot John on the table. Then, every time they had a meal together, they'd both remember what had taken place on that very same surface.

Come to think of it, Sherlock wanted them to have sex on every surface of the flat, so there would be no place he could turn and not see evidence of their coupling. The idea sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.

"It's not on, Sherlock." John elbowed past him and moved toward the stairs. "I know who'll be cleaning up if we do it on the table and it won't be you. Come on." His hands spasmed at his sides, body practically vibrating in front of Sherlock and he reached out, wanting to help, but John stepped out of reach. "_No_, Sherlock. Not here. I won't…come on. Upstairs."

* * *

In the end, it was anti-climactic. All the worry Sherlock had put himself through- the pointless reading, the sleepless nights, the anxiety and stress, the different scenarios, the nerves- proved useless.

As soon as they reached John's bedroom, instinct took over.

They fell on each other in a blur of urgency, arousal, and _need_. John moaned, high in his throat, a desperate sound, as Sherlock yanked John's clothes out of the way, eager to claim him. He pressed his own trousers down over his hips, wholly without shame, without even thinking as he did it, and they both tried to pull Sherlock's shirt off, ripping the fabric in their haste.

As soon as John climbed on the bed, Sherlock swarmed over him, erect cock bobbing between his legs and looking odd with a half-formed knot at the base of it. John tried to talk him through it while Sherlock tried to think past the mind-numbing need accosting him. There were _so many_ things he wanted to do to John. He wanted to look, observe, deduce. He wanted to lick every inch of his skin. Taste the pulse pounding at the side of his neck. Suck at his little cock and taste his ejaculate, drink it straight from the source.

Sherlock was breathless, muscles jumping as he tried to tear himself this way and that, wanting to do it all at once. Unable to do anything.

"Come on." John urged, thrusting his hips up in an urgent, shivery grind. His hair was damp, sticking to his forehead. "Come on, Sherlock. You're ready?"

He was ready. Was he ready? Was this what 'ready' felt like- this horrible, driving _need_? He hadn't even gotten to touch John. Hadn't kissed him once they'd got on the bed. He didn't know what his cock tasted like, what he liked done to him, the various textures of his skin against Sherlock's tongue.

His arousal, however, refused to wait for such trivialities.

He worked his throat, managing a very croaky. "H-how?"

"Lay down." John instructed and Sherlock obeyed, stretching himself out on the bed. John slung one leg over Sherlock's hip, kneeling above him, and Sherlock moaned at the visual, committing it to memory, as John, shaking and uncoordinated, reached behind him and guided Sherlock's cock to the entrance of his leaking hole. Sherlock could feel the warm, viscous wetness leaking from John, could feel it dripping onto his skin and sliding in rivulets down his cock. He sobbed, hips jumping, as he sank into John's open body, breaching him. He moaned, grabbing John's hips, thrusting up-

"_Sherlock_!"

John's hands smacked against Sherlock's chest and he rose up on his knees. Sherlock's cock slid wetly from his arse, leaving it throbbing and hard, wet from John's lubrication.

"John-"

"We go at _my_ pace. All right?"

Sherlock nodded to get John to sit on his cock again.

John lowered himself back down, reaching behind to guide Sherlock's cock into his body. Sherlock held his breath, undulating his body against the bed at the toe-curling feeling. His hips jumped minutely, the need to seat himself into that silken wetness almost too much.

"Perfect." John whispered, smoothing his palms down Sherlock's chest. "You're doing perfect." He breathed, voice quivering. He rocked his hips in slow circles, breath hitching over and over. "Oh, fuck. You're doing perfect, Sherlock."

It was torture. Maddening. Sherlock couldn't take it. Watching John heave above him, slowly sinking down on his cock before raising himself back up, muscles visibly flexing with the effort. Using him to take pleasure. Sherlock panted, hands balled uselessly at his sides, and felt his sanity slipping away like sand through his fingers.

John's scent surrounded him. This close, their bodies intimately joined together, the smell of his arousal and musk and _god_, something that was wholly _John_ weaved around Sherlock. Clouding his brain. Overpowering him. It went straight to his cock. Sherlock could feel it throbbing inside John's body, begging for more, for relief. It was all too much.

"Oh god." John stared down at Sherlock, his eyes blown wide, and something of Sherlock's desperation must have shown on his face, must have given John some sort of clue just how much he was struggling, holding on for dear life, because John made a broken noise before saying: "Okay. It's okay, Sherlock, you're okay. You're doing g-great. Y-you can…you can move now. It's fine-"

It was all the permission Sherlock needed. He drove upward forcefully, thrusting into John's body. He cried out, the pleasure of seating himself inside the warm wetness almost painful, and planted his heels on the bed to gain leverage before tugging John down on his cock.

"_Fuck_!" John ground down on him, hissing, fingernails scoring Sherlock's chest and he bucked up, seeking more, feeling his orgasm looming. He knew it was too soon. They'd only been doing this for a minute- but he had to come. It was there, boiling in his blood, drawing his testicles up tight against his body, filling out his knot- amazingly sensitive, he'd never realized it could feel that way- at a rapid pace, a razors edge of agonizing pleasure.

"Jesus." John breathed, fumbling for Sherlock's hand. "Here." He quickly guided it to his own cock and Sherlock wrapped his hand around it, pumping at the blood-red length of it. Above him, John keened, mouth falling open, and stopped working himself on Sherlock's cock, eyes slitted in growing pleasure, perspiration beading at his forehead, across his chest. Sherlock rocked into him, unable to stop-

John was chanting his name, trying to get his attention, bearing down on him with every thrust. Sherlock didn't remember what he was supposed to do, didn't understand what John was trying to tell him. He worked himself inside John like a thing possessed.

"_Sherlock_-" John raised up and back, brow furrowed in concentration, and before Sherlock could wonder what he was doing, four things happened at once:

John bore down on him, hard and relentless, and Sherlock's knot _popped_ past the tight ring of muscles. Sherlock's orgasm hit- and it was a direct hit. Like being run over by a freight train. His muscles seized, heart stopping in his chest, and all the air was sucked from his lungs as pleasure, acute and sweet, rampaged through his body. His cock pulsed rapidly as he emptied himself inside John. John shouted, cock thickening in Sherlock's hand, growing impossibly hard before erupting, spurting out thin strands of clear ejaculate all over Sherlock's body.

Sherlock slowly came back to himself, realizing at some point he'd closed his eyes without being aware of it, frowning at the insistent patting at his cheek. He opened his eyes to gaze up at John who, stuck on his knot, was staring down at him, looking worried.

"-lock? Sherlock? Are you ok?" John stroked his face, smoothing Sherlock's sweaty hair from his forehead. "Sherlock? You're sort of worrying me now. Are you ok?"

"Mmm'fine." Sherlock slurred and some of the concern ebbed out of John's face, replaced with smug satisfaction.

"You sure you're all right? I think you sort of…blacked out there for a few seconds."

Sherlock didn't think he had. That sort of thing only took place in the worst sort of pornography. People didn't actually react that way when they experienced orgasm, even one as amazing as that.

Did they?

"You sure you're all right?" John caressed Sherlock's cheek again and his chest contracted painfully. They were still joined together. John was, temporarily, _his_. He wanted to pull John down, wanted more kisses like the ones from earlier. He wanted to wrap his arms around John and never let him go.

"Is it…is it always…like that?" Sherlock asked and John snorted, looking amused.

"Pretty much. I tried to tell you, you know. It's overwhelming." He suddenly sobered. "Listen…if it's too much for you…I understand if you don't want to stay the rest of the time-"

"Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock snapped, panicked, afraid John would think he wasn't up to the task and force him to leave. There was no way he was leaving John. Not now.

Unless…

"Was it not…good?" Sherlock felt ill. What if he had enjoyed himself- greedily taking his pleasure- and John hadn't? What if he had came too soon? And John wasn't satisfied? Was John trying to be polite- giving Sherlock an out so he could call another Alpha? Someone more experienced? Should Sherlock take the hint and bow out?

"What? Of course it was good. Don't be daft." John laughed, shifting forward and giving Sherlock a lingering kiss. He arched into the contact, the hard ball of tension in his chest loosening slightly. "It was great. You were great."

Sherlock gasped when his knot slipped from John's arse and John tensed above him, wincing.

"Well. I guess we have a couple of hours before it starts again. We never managed to eat breakfast. Come on. I'll make us something quick." John climbed off Sherlock and he felt cold without the solid weight settled atop him.

"I'm not hungry." He pouted, wanting John to come back to bed. John threw him a devious look over his shoulder, surprising Sherlock when he winked. He didn't think John had ever winked at him before.

"You need the calories, Sherlock. You'll be fucking me like _that_-" John nodded at the bed where Sherlock was still sprawled, wondering if he'd even be able to walk- "for the next 72 hours and, trust me, you'll need your strength to do it."

_Oh_.

Sherlock shuddered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and dutifully followed John downstairs.

* * *

They ended up having sex on the kitchen table, despite John's earlier admission of not wanting to.

They had just enough time to make breakfast and get done eating before the next wave of John's heat hit. Sherlock, covertly observing John across the table, noticed something was off when John went suddenly very quiet, face going tense…and then, hand trembling, reached for the jam, pretending as if nothing were wrong while he squirmed in his chair and his cheeks slowly turned red.

It was obvious what was happening but Sherlock waited, patiently impatient, for John to tell him it was time.

When John _finally_ capitulated and reached for Sherlock, he almost launched himself across the table.

Once again, they devolved into a passionate embrace with too much movement and not enough time to savor. Before Sherlock knew it, John was bent over the table, his pajama bottoms pooled at his feet, breathing harshly as he spread his legs and Sherlock pressed between them. He moaned at the sight of John's legs spread to either side of him, at the sight of his naked hole, gaped from earlier, natural lubricant dripping down his thighs. He watched as his cock slid into John's body, stretching him, leaving no room for anything else. Clear wetness gushed out around his cock and Sherlock opened his mouth, wanting to know what it tasted like, how it would feel gliding along his tongue. He couldn't pry himself away from John to try it, though.

John whimpered, arching his neck, hands scrabbling at the wooden surface, knocking their breakfast dishes to the floor. "Ohh…Jesus, fuck…" He bossily pushed back against Sherlock and that was all the invitation Sherlock needed to start thrusting.

Knowing what to expect the second time didn't make things any easier. Sherlock still felt obliterated. Steamrolled. His mind shut down. The race to orgasm was the only thing he could think of. The hot, tight, velvet wetness surrounding his cock. The urge to mate with John was so strong he couldn't have stopped if the building burned down around them.

John gripped at the edges of the table, breathless grunts forced out with each punishing thrust from Sherlock. He tried reaching one hand beneath him, moaning, but Sherlock was thrusting too hard for him and he was forced back into position.

"Sherlock-"

Sherlock sobbed in surrender before shoving his knot as hard as he could inside John. He cried out, his own orgasm paralyzing him, as John's arse squeezed rhythmically around his cock, pulsing in time to John's orgasmic contracts. The muscles squeezed around him, tight and constricting. He could feel his cock pumping out semen, testicles tightening reflexively, pleasure zinging through his body like electricity.

John was tense beneath him, muscles bunched in anger, and Sherlock only had a few seconds to panic before John was asking, in a deadly whisper-

"Want to explain what the hell that was?"

Sherlock didn't know how to explain himself, the reality of what he'd just done crashing over him. He'd just used John- used him like a…a _fuck toy_. Like Michael had done. Like the Omega he'd watched in the pornography had been used. Thoughtless. Without a care. Greedily taking his pleasure. Leaving John with the scraps.

"I- I…didn't mean to presume. I just-"

John craned his neck to look at Sherlock over his shoulder. When he saw Sherlock's face, white and stunned, the anger tightening his own features softened. He sighed. "It's ok, Sherlock. I'm guessing you didn't mean to do it that way."

Sherlock shook his head. He reflexively tried to pull away, wanting to allow John to stand up from his demeaning position over the table, but John cried out, Sherlock's knot catching on his rim. He quickly reached back and grabbed Sherlock, holding him in place.

"We're sort of attached right now, in case you forgot. You don't want to do that. Probably hurt us both if you do."

"I'm sorry." Sherlock blurted. "I didn't mean to do that-"

"I know you didn't. You're….well, you're not like that. It's fine."

It wasn't fine. "You didn't enjoy it."

John smiled and Sherlock wanted to cry. "Of course I enjoyed it. It was great. For the most part. I came, didn't I?"

"You didn't enjoy it." Sherlock insisted, throat closing up, feeling like a failure.

"Mm. I did. That's just not exactly my favorite way to come. You know…being knotted. It's the difference between being worked up to it and jumping when you're ready versus someone suddenly shoving you off the edge of a cliff without warning. The same feeling but…not entirely."

"I am sorry, John." Sherlock would always be sorry. He was ruining their time together. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of. He wasn't good enough.

John, though, didn't seem perturbed. He shrugged, resting his head on his folded arms. "It's ok, Sherlock. Really. Here- come here." He awkwardly reached back, pulling at Sherlock until the taller man was pressed heavily along his body, resting his weight against John's. It was an easier position since they were still knotted together and the contact with John soothed Sherlock. He closed his eyes, resting against the Omega, breathing in his scent and allowing himself to relax.

"But just so you know," John piped up, "if you ever do that again, I'll chin you."

* * *

John was on his back, knees hooked over Sherlock's shoulders as the Alpha pounded into him. John's face was red, slack with pleasure, eyes gazing up at Sherlock as if he were the most amazing thing he'd ever seen.

Sherlock was humbled.

He stroked John's cock- so much smaller than Sherlock's but perfect, stunningly lovely- in time to his thrusts. He kept his hips moving at a steady pace, in and out, ruthlessly maintaining control of himself so he wouldn't make a mistake again. He dazedly watched John fall apart beneath him, straining up into Sherlock's touch, hungry for it, breathlessly pleading for completion.

His knot easily slipped into John's hole and he worked John's cock while he came in short, quick spurts, covering his belly in trails of wetness. Sherlock's own orgasm was pale in comparison to the joy of watching John come. As John caught his breath, eyes closed in relief, Sherlock gave into the impulse and bent down, licking at the trail of John's ejaculate cooling on his stomach. John's gasped, muscles bunching beneath the onslaught and Sherlock rolled his tongue in his mouth, savoring the flavor.

"Christ." John exhaled, claiming Sherlock's lips in a delicate kiss. "Didn't expect you to do that."

"Why wouldn't I?"

John just shook his head and kissed him again.

* * *

Sherlock couldn't help but feel cheated.

He wanted to take John apart piece by piece. Lick every inch of his skin. Memorize every single blemish and scar. He wanted to know what the nuances of John's breathing meant while he pleasured him. What he liked best and how to achieve it. He wanted to _linger_.

John's heat, however, didn't allow him time to linger.

They always mated quick and fast. John spent his time between each bout sleeping, usually waking up when the next wave hit. When he reached for Sherlock, they came together brutally and built to a mutually stunning climax.

And it was fine, Sherlock admitted. More than fine. He loved being so close to John and sharing something so incredibly intimate with him.

But…

He couldn't help wishing he knew what John was like without the heat. What he was like when his reactions were his own and not induced by the flood of hormones in his system. Would he even want Sherlock then? Would Sherlock be able to arouse him or was it only during his heat that John reached for him?

Sherlock didn't have the answers and he was troubled.

* * *

John, munching on cheese and crackers, cleared his throat awkwardly. "Thanks…for this. By the way. For helping me through this."

"You're more than welcome." Sherlock accepted a crudely made sandwich from John with a small smile of thanks. His limbs were very shaky after their last round and John had declared they needed to eat. Sherlock thought his last meal had been breakfast that first day. He didn't know what time it currently was. It was dark outside.

"I hope it hasn't been...bad?"

Sherlock swiveled to stare at John incredulously. "How could you even ask me that?"

John shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on their food. "Just asking. It could have been. You've never done it before and you might…not like it?"

"Of course I've liked it."

"It's just- I know it's an experience and, well, some people even call it an _ordeal_-"

"Who has called it an ordeal?" Sherlock would personally murder them. How could anyone ever think sharing John's heat would be an _ordeal_?

"No one. That's not important. I'm just saying…doing this is a lot different and I just wanted to make sure you were enjoying yourself."

"I am." Immensely.

"Well. Good."

* * *

John sucked Sherlock's cock in slow, even pulls. His eyes rolled up to watch Sherlock as he did it, watching the emotions and pleasure play across his face.

Sherlock had told John he didn't have to do that. He was already hard and wasn't that the only purpose for performing fellatio now? John had laughed, wiggling down the bed, and taken Sherlock's cock in his mouth. Not all of it, Sherlock was too big for that, but enough that Sherlock's eyes had rolled back in his head and he'd made a sound as if he were dying. It didn't feel the same as John's arse, but it was a different pleasure, unique, and titillating to be in a part of John he'd never been before.

John stopped before Sherlock came, sliding up his body and settling atop him, slowly lowering himself down onto Sherlock's cock. He rocked above Sherlock, head thrown back, face contorted…and something horrible lodged in Sherlock's chest.

John had shared this with others. Countless others.

The idea was repugnant. Sherlock wanted to wipe it away, fling it as far from him as he could, and forget such a reality existed. But it did exist. Would always exist and Sherlock came to a conclusion which had already been months in the making:

He wanted to be the only one.

And he knew he never would.

* * *

By the third day, they were both exhausted. John's heat had almost burned itself out but the need was still there, insistent, and so they lay on their sides and Sherlock rocked into John from behind. When he finally came, pushing his knot into John's body, John reached orgasm with a tired sigh and closed his eyes. He went to sleep while Sherlock was still knotted inside him and Sherlock fell asleep that way too, arms wrapped protectively around John.

* * *

**Sorry it's taken me so long to update this. I was unexpectedly offered a job and things have been crazy on my end. Hope everyone liked this! :D**


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock blinked awake, reluctant to return to full wakefulness. Sleep dragged him down and enticed him to sink into the warm sheets and rest. Uncharacteristically, he felt he needed it. His body ached as if he'd been hit by a lorry. He moaned and swept out an arm for John, wanting to pull him closer, curl around him, and go back to sleep…but encountered only cold sheets.

Sherlock jerked upright, eyes scanning the room.

John was nowhere to be seen.

He tossed aside the covers but before he could leap out of bed and run starkers through the flat in search of him…he heard the shower going downstairs. Sherlock exhaled shakily and relaxed against the bed. How ridiculous of him to get so worked up over nothing.

He turned and buried his face in the sheets, taking a deep breath. The sheets smelled like _them_, a lovely combination of John's Omega scent and Sherlock's natural smell. Shampoo and soap. Sweat and semen. Sherlock wanted to lick the pillow. It smelled strongly of John and after checking that he was still alone, he dragged his tongue along the place where the scent was the strongest.

Then spent the next minute disgruntledly picking lint out of his mouth.

His mouth was already uncomfortably dry. His muscles- arms, shoulders, thighs, pelvis, back- were tight and sore. His entire groin was tender, radiating a pain that, while rather pleasant and reminiscent of the many orgasms he'd had, was distracting. His cock- when he checked- was chubby, swollen and red. The skin at the base, where his knot had expanded over and over, was puffy and loose. Sherlock had never seen it like that before and curiously prodded at it, wincing and quickly stopping when raw pain flared through his nerves.

It seemed he'd need a few days to recover from John's heat.

A pleased smile curled at the corners of Sherlock's lips. The past few days had been phenomenal. The countless couplings. The way John had looked. The noises he'd made. The pleasure. And _Sherlock_ had given him that pleasure. No one else. _Sherlock_ had made John scream until he was hoarse and reduced to breathless gasping. Had made him orgasm so hard his ejaculate had arched, spattered on his collarbone and he'd sleepily let Sherlock lick it off.

It was a testament to how knackered Sherlock's body was that his cock, even in the midst of these lustful musings, remained stubbornly flaccid, utterly spent. That was fine. Sherlock didn't want to be distracted by anything while he remembered how wonderful John's heat had been.

He was still reminiscing when John appeared in the doorway smelling strongly of soap, his hair damp from the shower, fully dressed. He stopped short and stared at Sherlock who was still sprawled beneath the sheets.

"Oh. I thought you'd be up by now."

Sherlock froze, his chest growing tight.

Something was wrong.

He could hear it in John's voice. Any ideas he'd had about John possibly coming back to bed or, barring that, giving him a warm smile and striding across the room to kiss him, dissipated like smoke. The happiness in his chest began to wither and he could feel his shields slamming up one by one in a desperate bid to protect himself from the pain he knew, from years of conditioning, was coming.

John was studiously avoiding eye contact, his eyes skittering away from Sherlock and darting around the room, looking anywhere but the bed. He licked his lips, his hands fiddling at his sides, doing complicated little maneuvers and plucking at the legs of his jeans. Obviously nervous. Uncomfortable. Tense because Sherlock was still in his bed, in his room, and hadn't left yet.

Of course. John's heat was through. He didn't need Sherlock anymore. Their time together was over.

Sherlock was suddenly mortified he'd lingered and _rolled_ in the bed like a maudlin idiot.

"Of course, I'll just…" Sherlock, ungainly and awkward in his confusion, flung one leg out of bed before pausing. Blushing, he clutched the bedding to his groin. "I…it seems I don't have any clothes."

Which was frankly absurd. Sherlock could see how stupid it was- not wanting to leave the safety of the bed and reveal his naked body to John. John had seen him naked round the clock for the past 72 hours. They'd had sex together. John had sucked his cock. Sherlock had licked John's still-warm ejaculate from his skin. Why was _now_ any different?

Sherlock didn't know. He didn't fully comprehend why _this_ morning was different…but it was. Immensely.

John nodded, still not looking at Sherlock. "Right. I'll run down and get you something." And then he was gone, jogging down the stairs. Sherlock stared after him, heart throbbing painfully in his chest.

Sherlock swallowed heavily, picking at the rumbled, stained sheet, crushing down his emotions as they rose one by one. By the time John got back with Sherlock's robe, he felt ready to face him again.

"Here." John handed Sherlock his robe and then stepped back, out of range, eyes averted as Sherlock stood and quickly donned his robe.

"Need to air it out in here." John muttered, turning away and opening the window, letting in a rush of cool, bracing air. Their combined scents were quickly dispelling under the onslaught and Sherlock took a deep, covert breath, wanting to huff as much as he could of it before it was all gone away. Who knew when- or if- he'd ever get the chance to smell it again? Regret bubbled up, hot and scorching, in his throat before he ruthlessly thrust it away.

"I'll need to wash those." John nodded at the bed and Sherlock irrationally wanted to grab the sheets up and preserve them and the lingering scent that clung to them forever.

"Right." He forced out. "I'll leave you to it."

"Thanks. And uh…thanks. For…well, you know."

Sherlock nodded, perfunctory, at John as he walked past him, trying not to notice the way John made sure their bodies didn't touch, taking a step back to let Sherlock through the door. Sherlock went downstairs, leaving John to strip the bed and wash away all the evidence of what they'd done together.

Back to normal.

* * *

John breathed a sigh of relief once Sherlock was gone, relaxing against the doorframe as the sounds of his footsteps faded.

It'd been a surprise to find Sherlock still in his bed this morning. A surprise…but not an unpleasant one.

John had never spent a heat in his own bed with an Alpha. He'd always gone to the Alpha's flat, had had sex in their bed, and left the morning his heat was over. He preferred it that way. It gave him the freedom of leaving when he wanted, while the Alpha was usually asleep, and avoided the post-heat awkwardness that inevitably came when the Alpha tried to get possessive or make their encounter into more than what it'd been. When John's heat was over, he generally never wanted to see the Alpha again.

So when he'd found Sherlock still in his bed, face pressed against John's pillow, a beatific smile on his face, John had drawn up short. He emphatically hadn't wanted Sherlock there. This was John's room. His personal, private space. His heat was over. They were done. Sherlock needed to leave.

Now.

Another part of him had been tremendously pleased at the sight of Sherlock in his bed. Relaxed and comfortable and still smelling like them. John had been able to smell him from across the room and it'd made his palms grow slick and tightened his gut in arousal. John had wanted to crawl under the covers and rejoin Sherlock. He'd wanted to wrap himself around Sherlock, kiss him, and make sure he never left John's bed and stayed there forever.

He'd never reacted to an Alpha like that.

John was confused. He didn't like it.

He'd probably been a complete tit to Sherlock, telling him to leave like that, John thought crossly as he stripped the bed of the soiled sheets, refusing to give in to the impulse to press his face against them and _breathe_. Bundled in his arms, held close to his chest, he couldn't help but smell them, though.

They smelled heavenly. They smelled like Sherlock.

He almost didn't wash them.

In the end, he scolded himself for acting like a love-struck, puerile _Omega_ and resolutely poured twice the amount of detergent over them before closing the lid.

As he walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was destroying something precious.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, John was constantly on edge. He was just waiting for it: waiting for Sherlock to suddenly start treating him differently now that he had undeniable proof John was an Omega. Now that he'd shared John's heat and seen him writhing and sobbing in need.

John shuddered. Should've thought of that before they had sex. If he had, he probably wouldn't have let Sherlock help him. Sherlock had seen him at his weakest, when he was unable to help himself and was solely at the beck and call of his body's demands. Would Sherlock still have respect for him after that?

John felt ashamed of himself for even _thinking_ that way about Sherlock. Sherlock was an Alpha but that didn't mean he was an arsehole like most of the others John had encountered. He was good. Nice. A prick but…well, a rather endearing prick. He was John's _friend_. He'd never treated John differently or made him feel bad for being an Omega.

Knowing that didn't stop John from waiting, expecting the moment Sherlock revealed how he really felt about him. Now that he knew.

It had happened with Alec.

After they'd shared John's heat together, Alec had abruptly turned clingy. Demanding to know where John had been. Who he'd been with. What they'd done. Insisting he stop trying to date and only be with him. John had gotten angry, told Alec his life wasn't any of his business, that just because they'd had sex- and yes, all right, great, _heat-fueled_ sex- didn't give Alec the right to control his life.

Alec had thought it did.

And then the ultimate fight. John's heat had been close and Alec, after _telling_ John they'd be spending John's heat together, had told him he wanted them to bond. It'd been a desperate move. He'd obviously thought it was the only way to keep John, not seeming to realize he'd been driving John away for months.

John had refused.

They'd yelled at each other for hours, had woken the whole dormitory and someone threatened to call the police. Finally, Alec had given John an ultimatum: bond with him or get out.

"You don't have the right, you cock." John snarled, face red as he heard snickers from outside their door. Half the floor was probably congregated outside, listening to them. "This is a public dorm-"

"I don't care." Alec hissed, face contorted in fury. "Fucking watch me."

He'd thrown John's things out of their room- into the hallway, out the window, however he could. John tried to stop him, had almost started throwing punches, but one of the girls in the hallway had warned him he'd get thrown out of uni if he got arrested. Watching his book bag sail out the window, he almost hadn't cared.

"Don't know why I'd want a slutty Omega like you anyway." Alec snarled at him as he slammed their dorm door in John's face, leaving John in the hall, glaring at the door, chest heaving. The people around him tittered, giggling, only some of them looking as if they felt sorry for him. Most apparently thought he'd got what was coming to him- screwing around with an Alpha and toying with him- as Alec had accused him of.

Calling Harry had been his only option and, after practically begging her for help, she'd driven over with a superior expression.

"Fucked the wrong Alpha, huh?" She asked, unsympathetic, and John, having spent the last hour picking up his scattered possessions, wanted to slap her.

He knew Sherlock was different from Alec. Was different from most of the Alphas John had met. He wouldn't do something like that to John.

It still didn't keep him from worrying.

* * *

"Good you're back. Don't take your coat off, yet. Lestrade called." Sherlock swarmed closer to John, looking manic, and bundled him back out the front door as quickly as he could.

"Sherlock- No! I'm not going! I just got back from work and I'm tired-"

"This is _important_, John. An eight at least!"

"Sherlock!"

"I brought your gun." Sherlock murmured, moving closer to John as he hailed a cab. "It's tucked in the small of my back. Drug traffickers, John. You'll need it."

John clenched his jaw, staring as a cab slowed to a stop in front of them. Sherlock didn't try cajoling him anymore, ducking into the back of the cab and leaving the door open. Waiting.

John chuckled, shaking his head, and climbed in after him.

* * *

Sherlock watched John stride down the sidewalk on his way to work from the safety of 221B, peering around the curtains, ready to duck in case John looked back and saw him. He stared until John had rounded the corner and disappeared from view. He sighed.

Sherlock wished he'd never shared John's heat.

He wished he didn't know what it was like to have John. What it was like to be that close to him, to be so intimate and _alive_. His skin ached as if he had a fever with how much he longed for physical contact with John. He wanted to curl up against him on the sofa and have John run his fingers through Sherlock's hair as he'd done during his heat. He wanted lazy, slow kisses and shared breaths and to know what John's tongue tasted like just after he'd had tea and biscuits as he'd done this morning.

That wasn't allowed, though. John didn't want that. Sherlock took his cues from his friend and pretended that nothing had happened between them. That everything was normal. He never brought up John's heat or alluded to what they'd shared. He thought he did a very good job of it.

It was horrible.

How did people _do_ this, Sherlock wondered, letting the curtains fall closed and slowly making his way into the kitchen where his latest experiment was laid out. How did they deal with all these _emotions_? He hated them. They choked him, made it hard to breathe, occupied his mind and clouded his judgment at the worst possible times. Before, Sherlock had been able to squash them back into their respective rooms in his mind palace. He'd had control over his emotions concerning John. Now…after John's heat…his control was utterly shattered.

John didn't seem to notice. Wasn't as effected as Sherlock, obviously. Of course he wasn't, Sherlock thought acerbically. John had done this before. Loads of times. He'd slept his way through half the Alphas in London. This was a common occurrence for him.

Sherlock curled his hands into fists, sightlessly staring at his experiment. He was thinking of this _wrong_. He wasn't being fair to John. Sherlock had _offered_ to share John's heat with him. To help him. This wasn't John's fault. He'd warned Sherlock before that it wasn't a good idea, had given him an out if he'd wanted. Sherlock had refused. He'd thought he knew what he was doing.

This, all this agony and fruitless suspense, was his own fault.

Sherlock shook himself out of his stupor, squaring his shoulders, and taking a deep breath. He would do a better job of suppressing himself. That was all. He was determined not to let John find out how he felt. He wouldn't let this drive a wedge between them and ruin their friendship. He wouldn't.

* * *

What an idiot he'd been.

_"Just so you're aware- it wouldn't have to change anything between us. We could do that and still be friends. I'm not…expecting anything from you either."_

What a goddamn absolute sodding moron.

_"Despite the complications that could potentially arise, I still believe I would be capable of assisting you through your heat….If we go into the situation with our eyes metaphorically open, knowing what to expect from each other, the potential problems would be reduced to nothing. So long as we don't delude one another or have higher expectations from the encounter than what is to be expected. It's really a very simple situation, John."_

A simple situation? No. There was nothing _simple_ about this. This was an incredibly horrendous cockup. He should never have done it. Never have agreed to it. It had been the biggest mistake of his whole goddamn life. And he'd known better even before he sat down in the kitchen to talk things out with his flatmate.

John groaned, head flopping back on his pillow, and scrubbed a hand over his face, stubble scratching at his palm. This was the fifth morning in a row that he'd woke up to a throbbing erection and a vague, quickly fading dream which had featured Sherlock in extremely lewd detail. He didn't need a dream to recall the way Sherlock had looked, though, hiking John's legs over his shoulders and fucking into him. His curls bouncing, eyes wide and surprised, mouth parted in mounting pleasure.

John's cock pulsed, moisture beading from the tip and creating a wet patch on the front of his pajamas. He tried to ignore it.

So, what? You had a nice bit of Alpha cock and suddenly you're gone on him? What was so great about it this time? It was all just the same as it's always been.

Except it hadn't been the same. It'd been with Sherlock. His flatmate. His friend. The man he'd fancied since they'd first met. The man he was already halfway in love with.

Fuck.

Groaning softly, John reached down and took himself in hand, hoping Sherlock wouldn't be able to deduce he was wanking over him.

* * *

John was thinking of dating again. Sherlock could tell it in the set of his shoulders, the clean, pressed clothing, the determined stride he employed as he walked to work each morning.

His stomach twisted itself into sick knots.

John always dated Beta women. The occasional Beta male. He never dated Alphas. And even if he did, what made Sherlock think he'd want to date _him_?

Sherlock spent the rest of the day composing, lost in morose thought.

* * *

It wasn't as if Sherlock even wanted him, John reminded himself as he tried to be useful to Sherlock as he and Molly worked over a corpse, collecting various tissue samples for Greg. John glanced sideways at Sherlock who, absorbed in the dead body, didn't look his way.

Stupid. Stop acting like a silly Omega with a crush. What's next? Getting wet and panting over every little thing Sherlock does? Begging him for his knot? Dreaming of being bred with babies and dollhouses?

John tore his eyes away from his flatmate for the sixth time in the last hour and tried to think of something else.

These thoughts were useless anyway. Sherlock didn't want him. He'd probably been curious to know what sex- heat- was like. That's why he'd made his offer to help John. He hadn't wanted _John_. He'd wanted the riddle, the puzzle, to figure out the mystery. He'd given no indication since that he wanted more.

Why would he?

Then again, why did _John_?

He'd never dated an Alpha before. Never wanted to. And for good reason: They were pushy. Demanding. Possessive. They always assumed- even the nicer ones- that John was automatically the submissive partner. Weaker. That he always needed to be taken care of. That he liked being dominated in the bedroom. Loved having a cock up his arse every day. That his own cock was just a vestigial limb they could ignore as it suited them.

It was why he exclusively dated Betas. They were less likely to judge John for being an Omega or think less of him. They were also more likely to let him take the lead in their relationship- sexually and emotionally. That was what John liked. Hypocritical but…it was what it was.

"Got it" Sherlock announced triumphantly, breaking John out of his reverie. He gestured with one blood-slicked hand at his newly extracted piece of evidence, clearly wanting John's praise. For the life of him, John couldn't remember what they were at Bart's for.

"Great. Fantastic." He smiled at Sherlock, trying to pretend as if nothing were wrong, but the way Sherlock's eyes went shuttered and he turned away from John, he didn't think he did a very good job of it.

* * *

John had found someone he wanted. Sherlock was hyperventilating as he stored his precious evidence with shaking fingers. It was obvious- equally obvious was the careful way John acted around him. He was afraid to tell Sherlock. Afraid Sherlock would perhaps make a scene.

Sherlock didn't think he'd be able to handle it: John with someone else.

He had to, though. And he would.

For John.

* * *

**This is the penultimate chapter. Next update will be the smut.**

**Come check me out on Tumblr! The link is on my profile page :D**


	8. Chapter 8

John's heat was next week.

Sherlock curled in on himself, tightening his body into a protective ball on the sofa. He closed his eyes, miserable, and listened to John putter around the flat, humming to himself as he tidied things. It was all so disgustingly domestic. A terrible, nauseating _lie_.

Sherlock tried not think of this same time next week. The silence. The emptiness. Loneliness closing in on him from all sides as he thought of what John and his current Alpha were doing halfway across London.

Sherlock stifled a whimper and clenched his eyes closed as tightly as he could, as if that would somehow block out the visuals of John (and now he knew what John was like during heat and it _tormented_ him) having sex with someone else. Laughing giddily. Moaning. Wetness slicking down his thighs. Grinding himself atop someone. Coming with a high gasp, eyes fluttering closed in a mix of pleasure and relief.

Sherlock felt sick.

He wanted to run across the room, push John down, climb into his lap, and kiss him. He wanted to beg John not to spend his upcoming heat with another Alpha. Beg him to spend it there, at the flat, with Sherlock. He'd give John anything he wanted. _Anything_. John could be in charge the whole time. Choose the positions they were in. If and when and how often they had sex. He'd done all that last time, anyway. Sherlock would let him do it again- and more.

What more could John want? Sherlock tried to make a list as the plan took shape in his mind.

He could buy them a better, more comfortable bed. A television for John's room and episodes of Doctor Who or that _dreadful_ detective show so John could watch them between bouts. Stock all John's favorite foods. Schedule deliveries from the local markets. Send Mrs. Hudson to visit her sister's, all expenses paid. Desperate, Sherlock thought he would even let John tie him to the bed and use Sherlock at his own whim for the three days of his heat.

Sherlock's throat went dry and his cock flexed beneath his pajamas at the idea. Handcuffed to the bed…at John's mercy-

No. Not helpful. Moving on.

Should Sherlock casually ask John how he would be spending his next heat? If they would possibly be sharing it? Or would that be too forward and aggressively Alpha? John would hate that, if it was.

Besides, John had given no hint that he wanted to spend his heat with Sherlock. It would be presumptuous and rude of Sherlock to bring it up when John had given no indication…

And what if...what if John _preferred_ to spend his heat with someone else? And this- this non conversation over the subject- was his way of letting Sherlock down gently?

The thought speared through Sherlock like a knife, stealing his breath and cramping his stomach in sudden dread. Maybe Sherlock hadn't been good enough. Maybe he'd disappointed John. Done something he wasn't supposed to. Not satisfied John as much as others had done. And John, bless him, hadn't said anything because he hadn't wanted to hurt Sherlock's feelings but had been relieved when his heat was over and their time had been at an end. And now he couldn't stomach the idea of spending more time, sexually, with Sherlock so he hadn't said anything, thinking it was the nicer thing to do than actually _tell_ Sherlock he'd been horrible.

Sherlock couldn't stand the idea. He couldn't stand it. He felt as if it would drive him mad.

He spent the next half hour wallowing in his own grief and despair, going over every encounter between he and John during John's heat and berating himself when he saw how oafish he'd behaved. How gauche and unready. He didn't know how he'd be able to face John again. No wonder John didn't want him.

"Sherlock? Got a minute?"

Sherlock flinched at the sound of John's voice. If he didn't answer maybe John would think he was asleep and go away.

"Sherlock?" John was closer, standing over him. He prodded Sherlock's shoulder, shaking him. "You busy?"

There was nothing for it. Sherlock steadied himself before responding, glad his voice didn't betray his emotions. "What?"

"I uh…Well. Can you turn around? I want to talk to you."

Tedious. Sherlock rolled over huffily, keeping his eyes closed. No doubt this had to do with the cigarettes he'd hidden under John's chair. "What?"

He heard John take a deep breath and clear his throat. Then said nothing. Noticeable hesitation. Sherlock opened his eyes. John was staring down at him, looking nervous, and flashed him a quick smile when he saw he was finally being paid proper attention to.

"Will you be busy next week?"

Why did John want to know that? Was he planning on bringing his new Alpha back to the flat? Did he want Sherlock to go away so they'd have privacy? The entire time he'd live there, John had only brought someone- a Beta female- back to the flat once. Sherlock had made sure it'd never happened again.

He scowled. He wasn't going to make this easy on John. Of course, if John _did_ insist on bringing his new Alpha back to the flat, Sherlock would have to leave. The very thought of sitting downstairs while he listened to John and his new Alpha copulating upstairs- smelling their combined scents and running into them as they staggered into the kitchen for provisions- made Sherlock shudder. "I have no way of knowing whether or not I'll be busy next week." He said peevishly. "I don't have magical clairvoyant powers to discern the future, John. Why do you ask?"

John shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. His posture screamed anything but. Sherlock mentally began to list the names of hotel owners who owed him favors.

"Well. It's…my heat will be next week-"

John stating the obvious, as per usual. There was a hotel close to the flat Sherlock was positive he could stay at for free- and be close enough to Baker Street in case John needed his help.

"-and I thought you might want to…I dunno. Help me out? Again?"

Sherlock's thought process derailed in a spectacular fashion, leaving him reeling. John had just said…. He wanted…? John was actually asking Sherlock to…?

It wasn't possible.

Sherlock jerked upright on the sofa, heart fluttering, feeling incredibly lightheaded. "You want me to _what_?"

John visibly blanched and quickly backpedaled. "Sorry. You don't have to, of course. Obviously. I just thought I'd ask- but I don't want you to feel obligated just because-"

"_No_!" Sherlock lunged upward, staggering to his feet, grabbing John and clutching his shoulders. "No, no! I want to." He said breathlessly. "I want to help you. Again. Whenever you want." His eyes darted over John's face, which had gone tense and worried. "Please?" He tacked on at the end. Politeness generally worked well with John.

John relaxed, his face breaking into a broad smile. "Great. That's… great."

Was it? Since when? Sherlock frowned, trying to work out where this had come from.

"You're sure you want to?" John asked, misinterpreting Sherlock's expression. "You really don't have to if you don't-"

"I thought you'd ask someone else." Sherlock burst out, then winced. "Not that I want you to. Obviously. I just thought…after last time…you would…"

"Why would I have asked someone else?" John asked, making it sound like the most ridiculous idea. As if he hadn't been doing the very same thing ever since he'd met Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged. He realized he was still gripping John's shoulders, his palms warmed from John's body heat even through multiple layers of clothes. He blushed, snatching his hands away. "I thought…maybe you hadn't enjoyed it."

John's eyes dropped to stare at Sherlock's lips, his tongue darting out to lick his own. Sherlock found himself mirroring John's actions and there was a noticeable increase in John's respiration. Dilated pupils. "No. I enjoyed it." John stepped closer to Sherlock, invading his space. Sherlock let him. He had no qualms about personal space when John Watson was concerned. "A lot."

A lot. John had enjoyed having sex with Sherlock.

_A lot._

Relief was immediate and sweeping. Sherlock hadn't failed. He had, in fact, done such a good job that John wanted _more_. Was asking him to share another heat with him. Was backing him up toward the sofa, making his intentions of non-heat related sex clear with every passing second.

Sherlock desperately wanted to kiss him. He waited, though, for John to make the first move. His limbs were shaking, lungs vibrating with eagerness. He felt dizzy and hoped he wasn't about to faint. He hadn't fainted since he was eight years old- in front of Mycroft no less- and it would be incredibly unpleasant to do so at this particular time, right before John kissed him.

John was going to kiss him.

Sherlock hardly dared to breathe.

When John finally reached and tugged at Sherlock's collar, bringing him closer to kiss, Sherlock was hanging onto his control by a thread. John's lips slid over his, warm and soft and slightly moist, and Sherlock broke, surging forward, moaning.

"Jesus." John muttered and even that was fantastic, the oath swallowed up in Sherlock's mouth, a little piece of John he claimed as his. John pushed him back, forcefully, and Sherlock let himself be manipulated, stepping away and giving John the space he knew he needed. He was briefly afraid John would stop- but before the thought had enough time to cause him panic, Sherlock was being snogged by John again, his tongue forcing his lips to part and slipping into his mouth.

Sherlock let John take the lead, remembering his vow from earlier to let John do anything he wanted. He let John push him down on the sofa and straddle him, never breaking their kiss for a second. He would have envied John's ease…but it was hard to be envious when someone was kissing you, devouring you from the mouth down with single-minded determination while they frotted against your body. Sherlock could feel John's erection poking into his stomach, his own trapped in his trousers and nudging against the backs of John's thighs. His body felt as if he were about to go up in flames. He tried to stop them but staccato moans kept stuttering uselessly from his mouth, John drinking them in one by one.

John tugged Sherlock's t-shirt up and his palms skidded along his skin, rough and hot. Sherlock arched, gasping, and John seemed to love that, if the way he moaned and repeated the action were any indication. If Sherlock had had any control over it, he would have done it again and again just to please John. Instead, all he was able to do was squirm and wordlessly beg for more, hoping he got something right at some point.

Things were moving too fast. Everything was passing in a blur of sensual arousal and he could still scarcely believe this was happening. Not five minutes ago, Sherlock had thought John would never want him, that he'd failed, that he'd never know what it was like to kiss John again…and now John was in his lap, his fingers rolling over Sherlock's nipples as he bit kisses along Sherlock's jawline.

Sherlock slipped his hand down the back of John's pants, feeling bold, going on instinct and what he thought John would like as he trailed his fingers down...

"You're wet." He blurted, surprised- John's heat wasn't until next week- then instantly wished he hadn't when John pulled away from him, his jaw clenched, going tense above Sherlock.

"Yes." He said, as if he were daring Sherlock to be disgusted, to ask why and say it was odd.

That was the furthest thing from Sherlock's mind.

"Can I taste you?"

John jerked, eyes widening. "What?" He laughed, incredulous, but when Sherlock didn't join in, he trailed off. "You, er…you want to…?"

Sherlock licked his lips, eager, his cock hardening further at the idea. "_Yes_, _please_." He breathed, fervent, and he watched John's eyes visibly darken, his throat bobbing.

"I…not this time, Sherlock. I-"

Sherlock wasn't disappointed. "Can I perform fellatio on you?"

"What?"

Sherlock wondered if he were enunciating correctly. It was possible he wasn't since his tongue felt large and swollen and awkward in his mouth. John seemed to be having a problem understanding him.

"May I suck your cock?" He rolled his vowels and made sure to pronounce each word correctly. John's breathing faltered and he noticeably swallowed.

"I…um…yeah. Yeah…course you can. If that's what you want?"

It was. Very much so.

John moved to the side, letting Sherlock slither off the sofa and onto his knees in front of him. He tugged at John's jeans, wrestling to get them off, and John chuckled, obligingly lifting his hips so he could shimmy out of them.

"Bit keen?"

Sherlock didn't answer. He didn't want John to know how much time he'd spent thinking of having John's cock in his mouth the past few months. He thought it'd be deemed "not good."

John was lovely naked. Sherlock had already known in an odd, vague way since he hadn't gotten the chance to really _notice_ during John's heat. Now, kneeling in front of him, he raked his eyes over every inch of visible skin, greedy.

"You've seen it all before, you know." John said uncomfortably, shifting beneath his gaze, and Sherlock's eyes snapped to his face. Did John seriously think…_ah_. It seemed that he did.

"You're…very handsome. I was…distracted before." Sherlock admitted and John laughed, as Sherlock had known he would, and relaxed.

He turned his eyes back to John's penis, unconsciously licking his lips. John was fully hard, the foreskin pulled back to reveal the head, the entire length- average for an Omega- flushed a dusky red. A bead of pre-ejaculate clung to the mushroomed tip. Sherlock swiped his tongue over it, closing his eyes to savor the burst of flavor in his mouth. John gasped, tensing, and his cock bobbed, tapping Sherlock on the chin.

It was a bit disconcerting that John, like all Omegas, had no testicles. Sherlock had known to expect it, having read about it online. The skin below John's cock was extremely sensitive and when he mouthed at it John shuddered and gasped and his legs spread wider to give Sherlock more access.

"Sherlock…"

Sherlock wanted to be spectacular. He wanted to prove to John just how competent he was in pleasuring him. He bobbed his head, taking in John's erection and swirling his tongue around it. He let saliva pool in his mouth so each time John's cock slid in and out of his mouth there was a slick, wet heat surrounding it.

John's cock fit perfectly in his mouth. Sherlock could take it all the way inside without choking and he used this to his advantage, sealing his lips around the base of John's cock each time before pulling off. He was so intent on pleasing John, on the surprised, happy gasps and groans John was making, that he forgot about his own arousal. He shoved aside the throbbing of his own cock in favor of John's and when John breathed "C-close- oh, god…Sherlock, m'close" Sherlock hummed excitedly around his cock and redoubled his efforts, anticipating the mouthful of ejaculate with an almost slavish devotion.

When John came, his ejaculate hot and bitter in Sherlock's mouth, Sherlock swallowed around him and afterward, John pulled Sherlock up onto the sofa and jacked him off harshly, his grip hard and with too much friction. Sherlock came like a firecracker.

* * *

John insisted that they both get cleaned up, towing Sherlock on shaky legs into the loo with him. Sherlock dutifully cleaned his semen from his stomach, pretending not to notice the wetness slicking John's thighs. He also squashed the burst of pride that he'd so obviously aroused John. He loved the tangible proof. Sherlock wished John would allow him to lick him clean…but he knew better than to ask.

Maybe another time.

Later, John let Sherlock sprawl all over him on the sofa while they waited for their takeaway to arrive. Sherlock sighed happily as John trailed his hand down his back.

"Listen…" John began hesitantly, and Sherlock went on alert. "We need to talk. If we're going to be doing _this_." He squeezed Sherlock and Sherlock went boneless atop him. "There are…I have rules. And we'll need to have boundaries…"

Sherlock closed his eyes, relaxing again as John kept talking. He knew they still had a lot to discuss. John hated Omega things. Of course there were rules.

He wasn't worried.

He had John.

The rest could sort itself out.

* * *

**And thus ends another story! Thank you so much for all the support this story/series has gained.** **There shall be more!**


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